Blind Faith
by lexabean
Summary: Five years, that's how long it's been since Clint Barton last saw his partner. Gone from his life and legally dead, Natasha Romanoff is but a memory of what could've been. So he did what people do—he moved on. But what happens when a new piece of intel links four SHIELD disasters to a ghost? Now rated M starting from chapter 11. Read and review!
1. Fate

**Disclaimer: All characters are property of Marvel Comics. I must include this in here because my dad will get really pissed if we get sued over my obsession with these characters.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_**SHIELD Headquarters, Washington DC: May, 2006 **_

"Nat, would you just look at me?" Clint demanded as he finally grew tired of her avoidance. It had been over a month since their last mission; things had gone from bad to worse when he took that bullet for her. Natasha had been distracted by the mob of thugs only thirty meters in front of them when he saw the glimmer of a sniper's scope aimed at his partner. He'd been shot only three inches above the heart and had nearly died in his best friends arms. In the heat of the moment he'd confessed all there was to confess, but most importantly he told her he loved her. He blacked out and woke up in medical three days later.

She'd avoided him like the plague once he woke up, "Could you just wait until I'm through with my mission debrief, _Barton_?" She stopped fast walking to face him. Her voice was sharp and chiding, but it was at least an acknowledgement of his presence.

Clint halted, almost crashing into her, before deciding he wasn't going to get a better offer, "My place, after six." He waited for her answer as she glared at him.

"Fine." She sharply turned on her heel and proceeded to walk through SHIELD headquarters without another word. After their failed mission, Natasha made sure to request solo missions almost immediately after she herself received a clean bill of health.

If she was honest with herself, Clint's confession, as he lay dying in her arms, had both relieved and scared her. It relieved her because up until then, she thought she was reading into their friendship a little too much. As partners, they were expected to be professionals, but ultimately, people develop feelings; it's only human to desire closeness and comfort. Despite this, she was terrified. She didn't know _how_ to love a person, how to give herself to them. _Trust kills you_. That's what the Red Room taught her. You can only trust yourself. _Never let your guard down_. Despite their more than unconventional methods of training, that was one teaching she was grateful for.

Five years of partnership tended to create some serious bonding. She tried to dismiss her feelings as typical. He was the first long terms partner she'd ever had so she figured it came with the territory. It wasn't until she started to develop feeling of jealousy towards the attention Agent Barbara "Bobbi" Morse had been receiving from from Clint that Natasha realized it wasn't at all normal. Bobbi was a junior agent trying to genuinely make friends but Natasha could help but despise every fiber of Bobbi's five-foot-seven blonde haired and tanned skin frame.

Natasha Romanoff was many things, but _jealous_ was _not_ one of them. After Natasha "innocently" accepted Bobbi's offer to spar, Clint finally stepped in.

Two years later, Bobbi still has that thin scar on her wrist from her encounter with Natasha's dagger.

The missions she'd been taking were supposed to clear her mind, but they ended up only putting off the inevitable.

_'God I hate confrontation'_ she thought bitterly as she readied herself to go to Clint's place. This was not going to turn out well. Despite having a key, she knocked as to avoid catching him in an awkward situation. The last time she let herself in, she found him watching _Grease_ in his boxers while eating pizza and drinking beer.

"Come in!" He called from inside. She put on a stern face and sighed, opening the door to his place. It was messy, _'As usual'_. He was leaning on the kitchen counter with a drink in his hand. He held up the bottle of whiskey and poured her a drink when she nodded. Taking her seat by the table, she quickly downed it and asked for another, "Easy there, you wanna remember this."

"You know I can hold my liquor just fine, Clint." He lightened up at the use of his first name. It meant she wasn't as angry with him. That didn't mean it would last though. Natasha firmly pressed her lips into a thin line and furrowed her brow as she stared intently at her half full glass, "I don't know what to do." She announced.

Clint took her silence as his cue to say something, "You don't have to do anything, Nat. If you don't feel the same way, I can—"

"That's the problem, Clint" she gave an empty chuckle as she looked up at him, nipping at the inside of her bottom lip, "I feel the same way," she saw a faint glimmer of joy in his eyes, "and I don't know what to do about it." Her voice was defeated and laced with uncertainty. She couldn't look at him.

"And that's fine, Nat." He couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips as he knelt down in front of her to catch her gaze, "We don't have to move fast. If you want to go slow, we'll go slow." He paused searching her features for a reaction, "But I want you to know that I meant every word of what I said to you back there."

She took a deep breath, finally finding the courage to look at him. The brightness in his blue eyes sent a pang of guilt through her, "I know, Clint, but we can't. We just _can't._" She looked away, a lump developing in her throat.

"What do you mean? Of course we ca—"

"No!" Her voice came out more stern than she intended. She felt trapped being so close to him. She quickly got up and placed herself on the opposite side of the table, pacing momentarily, "Don't you get it? People who get close to me—_that_ close—always end up dead." His face morphed to irritation, "I could never forgive myself if you were killed because of me. Do you _realize_ how compromised we are? Every move we'll make on missions from now on will be to protect the other. We can't afford to be distracted, Barton." She hoped using his last name would help him realize the impossibility behind what he wanted—what _they_ wanted.

"So what, you're giving up because—because of the job? Is that all you want in your life, when here we have a chance to finally be happy, to feel happiness?" He moved closer to her.

"People like me don't get to be happy." Her voice was even more stern.

"That's bullshit, Natasha, and you know it. You've helped and saved countless lives!" He was growing angry.

"And taken countless others." She countered, "You're the only person I'll ever be partners with, Clint, and I _don't_ want to become a solo operative. It took me years to fully trust every fiber of weird persona." Her voice became calm, "We can't compromise ourselves more than we already have. _This_," she motioned between them, "this is all I have in my life. I can't lose it and," she hesitated momentarily before continuing, "and I can't lose you." He was at a loss for words. Realizing this, she stared at the tiles beneath her shoes, noting their uncleanliness, "You of all people deserve happiness, Clint. You're easy to love," she glanced up at him, "I'm just the wrong person to give it to you. You'll never be safe with me."

"I don't wanna be safe." He said firmly, finally finding his voice.

She gave out a sad chuckle, holding back her tears, "But you deserve to be." Natasha walked over to him and kissed him lightly on the cheek, "See you tomorrow, partner." Her voice was quiet and raspy.

Clint was frozen in place, arms crossed and eyes unmoving.

Natasha made it to the elevator doors seemingly composed and waked inside before she couldn't take it anymore and she punched the reflective walls that surrounded her. Letting out a frustrated growl, she banged her head on one of the walls, grounding her forehead into it as she shook her head in disappointment, "What've I done?"

* * *

It was now Monday morning, six AM to be precise and two days since she last saw Clint. She showed up at the SHIELD gym at their usual time to train and spar with him. When he didn't show, she figured he was still mad and avoiding her. Natasha honestly believed he'd be more mature than this.

After a thorough search of the base and all of his usual spots, she concluded he was, in fact, now avoiding her. Angry, she spent the next hour beating the life out of several other agents before moving on to punching bags. Another hour later, she was walking through the city to her favorite frozen yogurt place when she heard it.

Or rather _him_. '_Clint'_.

She halted before quickly scanning the plaza. She found him sitting on a table in front of a cafe..._laughing_. It took Natasha a moment to realize that he was with someone.

That someone was Bobbi Morse. _'Dear Lord, have you no mercy?'_. If she thought Clint was being immature before, now she was sure of it. If this was a ploy to make her jealous, it was working. Natasha quickly made herself scarce before he could pick up on her presence.

"That jerk!" She growled, kicking her living room sofa as she entered her apartment. Huffing, she threw her keys across the room, _'Note to self: change lock.'_

She ran her fingers through her red locks, "Get a grip, Nat." She chided herself. Cringing, she realized that sounded just like something Clint would say to her. Before she could get further into it, her SHIELD issue phone rang in her coat pocket.

_Coulson _the caller ID read.

_'Great'_, she thought begrudgingly before answering, "Romanoff."

* * *

_**Kiev, Ukraine: Four days later**_

This was _not _good. Not one bit. It seemed like SHIELD had a habit of jinxing missions that were "simple in and out in a day" types. Now on their fourth day of a one day mission, Clint and Natasha found themselves in the Ukraine, fighting off a bunch of _"Nat's cousins"_, as Clint had so cleverly nicknamed them. In reality, they were gangsters loyal to one of Europe's most nefarious mobsters.

Natasha was running from her _"cousins"_ through one of the mafia bases. She managed to break into one of their data rooms and send all of the files on their synthetic drug trade to SHIELD, blowing the room to smithereens before she was discovered (quite amateurally) by a guard. Now, if Clint, who was two blocks away watching through his sniper scope, had done his job like he was _supposed_ to, instead of trying to justify his date with Bobbi, he'd have noticed said guard go off route to charge his phone in the data room that sucked all of the electricity out of every corner of the building.

Now he was cursing himself for letting it happen as he ran towards the building to help her fight off the eighty something guards that kept watch over the four story building. Clint knew Natasha would either go to high ground and try to jump onto another building, or flee to the basement and get out through the tunnels. Seeing as how he'd lost communication with her, he quickly made his way into the tunnels.

Before diving into a manhole, he stopped abruptly when his comm began to cackle and buzz with life, "Nat? Natasha, can you hear me?" He called desperately.

_"Clint!" _He heard her gasping in exertion.

_'Running, she's running.'_

_"Clint! East side of the building. Roof jumping!"_ He was wrong about the tunnels and he cursed, jetting off toward her position.

"I'm coming, hold on!" He encouraged.

_"Comm was damaged in the explosion,"_ she referred to her destruction of the data room, _"Clint, they're on me, hurry." _He heard her grunt as she fell and tumbled onto another building.

Sounds of fists connecting with flesh and bones cracking filled his ear. He only hoped it was the enemy and not her. Before he knew it, he was only twenty meters from the jumping into the adjacent building from the four story roof. He could see thirty silhouettes running in the full moon light, "Hold on, I'm—"

_**BOOM!**_

Bright light engulfed a building in front of him, the shockwave knocking him to the ground.

Clint groaned and coughed as as and debris rained down on him. He rolled over and got to his knees, starting at the burning red flames that illuminated the horizon. He barely felt the small prick on his neck before he again collapsed, hitting the ground face first. The crunching of gravel under hard shoe soles grabbed his fading focus. The mystery shoes nudged his side and pushed him onto his back. The black figure kneeled in front of him, brown trench coat fanning behind him, face partially covered by the shade of his hat. Clint focused on the tiny red glow of the cigarette as the man took a long drag from it. The last thing Clint saw was the moonlight reflecting off of the man's devious grin before his vision faded into darkness.

* * *

_**Secret SHIELD Base: Somewhere in Germany**_

Destroyed. Obliterated. Demolished. Pulverized. _Gone_.

All of those words and more came to mind when Clint saw the photos of the building Natasha had been fighting on. SHIELD had picked up his unconscious body before day break and onto the helicarrier, leaving the fire to be dealt with by local authorities.

"_No survivors"_, that's what the report said.

He was in shock, looking at the charred and melted bodies in the ruins of what used to be three buildings.

_'No, Natasha isn't dead, she can't be.'_ he thought, "She has to be out there sir." Clint sat across from Fury at headquarters.

"We can't know that, Agent."

"Then let me find out; I can find answers." Clint offered firmly.

"We looked through the remains and found only one possible match for Romanoff, but the damage prevents any DNA confirmation. Unless you find any evidence suggesting otherwise, I have no choice but to declare her killed in action." He hesitated a little with his last three words. Nick Fury didn't have friends, but that didn't mean he didn't have people he cared for deeply. Natasha was one of those people.

Clint stared at the manilla folder of the mission report, lost in thought. He'd been arguing with her. The last conversation he had with his partner was an argument. Clint mentally slapped himself for how childish he'd been. There was a very slim chance she'd made it off the rooftop alive, but he had to take it, "I'll do my best, sir." Regaining his senses, he readied himself to leave.

"Barton," Fury called, "this will have to be on your own time. It seems Hydra's been rearing its ugly butt in our faces again and I need my best agents ready. Use any SHIELD resource to find her, but with the present threat, SHIELD itself has to be your first priority." Fury gave Clint a stern but apologetic look.

"Understood." Clint closed the office door with a click, determination evident on his features.

* * *

_**Unknown location: Somewhere in Europe**_

The first thing Natasha noticed as she woke up was that her mind was sluggish and she was strapped to a medical chair. It had been the bright florescent surgical lamp above her head that drew her back. The rest of the room was dimly lit and cold. Recalling her last memories, she remembered running from some thugs and hearing Barton over her comm piece and then...nothing. She couldn't remember how she was knocked out and brought to wherever she was now at. _'This isn't good.'_

A guard hidden in the shade of a dark corner immediately stood up and exited the room. Natasha chided herself for not noticing sooner.

A minute later, the door opened and in walked a tall silhouette of a man, "Finally awake, I see."

Natasha inwardly froze at the sound of his voice. She knew this man, "Drakov," she uttered, seemingly unphased. He looked relatively the same but with more wrinkles and darker eyes. He was a fairly built man with grey hair and a short beard speckled with white.

"I bet you thought you'd never see me again," he pulled up and sat on one of the rolling chairs, "not after what you did to me." Drakov had a strangely calm demeanor and wore an annoyingly smug look on his face as he leaned back in the chair and linked his hands behind his head. He stared at her, waiting for her to ask the obvious question but realized she wasn't going to budge, "You must be wondering why you are here, Natasha."

She glared at him murderously but refused to answer.

Drakov grinned and stood up, "The obvious answer is revenge," he walked over to the rolling surgical table to Natasha's left and removed the white cover, "She'd be nineteen this fall," picking up a syringe, he sat back down and eyed it thoughtfully. Natasha's breathing quickened momentarily at the recollection of _her_.

"The Red Room was certainly cruel."

"But you had a choice," Drakov's calm compose turned to anger, "A child, she was! Nine years old. No, Natasha, you are the monster, _you_ are the legacy of their cruelty and you will pay!" He huffed as he tried to cool down again. He paced before drawing in a calming breath, "Why now, you may ask?" All evidence of his outburst gone from his face, he reached into his coat pocket and found a small vial of blue liquid, "Planning, Natasha. Planning. Planning and waiting. You see, after you defected and destroyed the Red Room, you set me free. The reason my dear Ana was murdered was because I angered them," Natasha grew nervous as he drew the liquid into the syringe, "But Hydra is much more relaxed. So long as I do my job they don't care about what else I do. In fact, when I told them my plans regarding you, they offered to help. They even helped me brain storm."

"And what plans might those be?" He looked up at the sound of her voice and grinned once more.

"I had only planned to torture you, then to use you as a test subject once I was sure you were broken. But Hydra suggested something far better." Drakov walked towards a container of liquid nitrogen and pulled up on the lever, revealing a small electrical device powered by a similar liquid to the one in his syringe, "We've been experimenting on a type of _control_ system, if you will, that allows us to monitor everything the subject sees and does." he carefully closed the capsule, "Hydra plans to cripple SHIELD by _gently_ pressing some key pressure points."

"And who do you expect to carry out your plans?"

"Why you, Natasha." He replied matter of factly.

"You've grown delusional, Drakov."

"Oh no, quite the opposite. You _will _undergo the procedure, you _will_ recover, and you _will _follow through with every order I give you." He stepped closer, towering over her.

"And if I don't?" She challenged.

"Then that partner of yours dies."

"You're bluffing." She furrowed her brow in confusion as he went to one of the lab tables and brought back a caged white rat. He opened up a holographic screen, pressed in a code, scanned his finger print, and waited. The white rat suddenly squeaked in pain as it convulsed in its cage. Blood poured from its ears and eyes, staining its pure white fur, "Like I said, planning. When the explosion went off in Kiev, I found your partner dazed on the rooftop about twenty meters from the blast. I pricked him with a sedative laced with nanites. They can be remotely triggered and make for a nasty death, as you can see, and can leave the subject paralyzed in pain for days before death. You may be reckless, but not even you would dare to gamble with his life, I'm sure." The rat squealed once more, "A Hydra mole with in SHIELD kept me apprised of all your missions," he turned the tablet and showed her what looked like a live video feed of Fury's office. Clint was sitting across from him arguing while appearing seemingly unhurt, "We have eyes on him around the clock, so don't try anything stupid."

Natasha clenched her jaw in anger, watching the rat twitch occasionally. Her mind started racing, trying to find a way out, a way to guarantee Clint's survival. She was the key to carrying out their plans, and without her, the plans meant nothing.

"If you think that killing yourself after we've put in the implant, don't. We'll be watching. We have more than one way of controlling you, Natasha." Removing the cage from her line of sight, Drakov pressed a button on his screen and, almost immediately, a medical team entered the room, prepped for surgery,

"There is a cure, but mind you, it's kept safe." He tapped his temple with his index finger and grinned maliciously.

Natasha tried to keep her breath even, anything to show she wasn't frightened. The truth is, she was terrified. Terrified of what they might do, what _she_ might do.

'_Damn you Clint.'_

"We designed this model just for you, Natasha."

"I'm flattered," she deadpanned.

"Now then, a little something to ease the adaptation," he quickly injected her with the mysterious blue liquid and motioned for the assistant to put her under, "I'll see you soon, Natasha."

Her vision began to blur around the edges as she felt the cold liquid move through her body. The last thing she felt was absolute fear as her vision faded to black.

* * *

She woke up with a headache. No, scratch that. She woke up with a throbbing, boiling, ear splitting _migraine_. Curling her fingers around the fabric beneath her, Natasha winced, unable to open her eyes due to the medical gauze. The room smelled like disinfectant and filtered hospital air. The bed she was on was hard as wood. When she tried to lift her hand to remove the gauze, it was held back by what she assumed was a thick leather strap used on the crazies. Her heart monitor spiked momentarily as she tried to calm herself. If there was one thing that Natasha hated, it was not being fully aware of her surroundings.

She heard the door open and click shut as someone entered the room. She tensed when she heard the persons footsteps near the left side of her bed, "You're adapting well, Natasha." Drakov commented, adjusting her IV drip.

Natasha swallowed in an attempt to bring moisture to her uncomfortable dry mouth. It felt like dry as a desert. The last time it was that dry, she'd been in a coma for three weeks after a mission in Monaco.

"You sleep like a log. A month, we've been waiting." He grabbed a clipboard at the foot of her cot and quietly jotted down some notes.

Annoyed by his silence, Natasha curled her hands into fists, "What did you do to me, Marcus?" She asked through gritted teeth. His first name tasted like venom on her lips.

"Well, you can attribute your headache to the brain implant. Once you recover fully, we will remove the gauze covering your eyes." He put the clipboard back and removed his glasses, "You are blind, Natasha. You will only have access to your vision when under my control in the field. Upon completion of tasks, you will be put to sleep until your next assignment." This time, Natasha couldn't hide the panic and fear as her heart monitor spiked again, "Now, now, no need to react like that. Do you remember being in cryo, Natasha? Being frozen after the Red Room was done with you. It's a feeling you'll remember soon enough."

He moved to exit the room before turning back to her, "Get well soon, Natasha." The sound of the door shutting echoed in the emptiness of the medical room.

Natasha's heart swelled with fear and hatred.

* * *

**Well there's chapter 1! Next chapter has some confusing time lines so at the end I'll explain it all for you guys. As always, review!**


	2. A Chance

**Disclaimer in chapter 1**

**Note, that as I was writing this, Agents of SHIELD was used as inspiration for the technology used on Natasha. So if you've seen how that works on Agents of SHIELD, you can visualize how Natasha receives orders in this chapter .**

**Special thanks to carolzocas, Theatre, and sailorraven34 for being the ONLY ONES to review the first chapter. Keep in mind, I've already written 18K plus on this fic and it's still going. Reveiws can help influence how fast I update.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Clint looked tireless for the first year. He combed through records, used up every favor he had, worked himself to the ground, and came up..._empty_. There was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ on the weeks after the mission in Kiev. No news of a woman wandering Europe, no intel on a red head Russian having been captured, not a single word. He was more disturbed by the lack of chatter above everything else. No news meant she really was dead. It had to be impossible to hide such a feisty and rowdy assassin for such a long time. It had to be.

In his determined search, Clint had completely shunned everyone. He refused to hang out with the his sparring buddies, or any agent for that matter, he refused to fight his mandatory leave (it gave him more time to search); he refused everyone and everything. Except Coulson who was the only person that could force him into showering or eating. Actually, it was more like Coulson and _Bobbi_. Bobbi had become a rising senior agent and the only other person he was willing to work with in the field because she didn't tolerate his bullshit.

_'Just like Natasha.'_ He thought. He fought hard for the first year to bite back the waves of nostalgia that plagued him day and night. He had to move their only picture together into a drawer because he'd start to tear up any time he looked at it. The photo was taken by Coulson upon their release from medical after a difficult mission. They had both been out through a meat grinder and had been itching to eat some _real_ food, not that cardboard stuff they had been force fed. Clint and Natasha were covered in small cuts and bruises, laughing at each other, evidence of their French fry fight on the table. He could still hear her laugh echo in his ears.

It took him five years to break through her fortress of obscurity and get a glimpse of the _real _Natasha Romanoff. Once he'd scraped the surface there was no going back. He found out she hated romantic comedies and couldn't whistle to save her life. She occasionally watched reruns of _Slugterra_ at three AM when she couldn't sleep. She really liked watching pole vault and the sprints of the Olympics. She owned only five pink socks after one had caught fire when she had once left the dryer on for too long. He'd learned so much about Natasha the _person_ that he could fill a novel with all of his discoveries and still have info left over for a sequel.

But now Natasha Romanoff was gone. Bobbi, Coulson, Hill, and even Fury, gathered together to announce to him it was time to call it. A year and a half of rigorous searching, a year and a half of denial and now they were asking him to accept it. His partner was dead. His best friend and almost lover was dead, gone since 2006. The world kept spinning, the clock went on ticking, and now it was time he kept moving too. Clint knew it was irrational, but he felt angry, angry that the world kept moving as if nothing happened, as if Natasha Romanoff's time on this planet meant nothing. But he knew better, because if it really had meant nothing, he would've stopped grieving a long time ago.

Fury retired the title Strike Team Delta, as a courtesy to Clint and in Natasha's memory. Now he was Strike Team Zeta, along with Bobbi Morse, at the time, a brand new senior field agent with four years of experience under her belt.

Interestingly enough, Coulson and Fury showed little opposition when they found out about their relationship beyond Strike Team Zeta. In fact, Fury was almost uninterested in the fact that his new top strike team was _dating_. What did interest him was when Clint and Bobbi got married the following year. Now that got his eye-patch in a wad.

Clint liked Bobbi: she was easy to trust and she was far less complicated than his previous partner. He scolded himself for constantly comparing the two women in his mind but he couldn't help it. Even before Kiev, Clint compared every woman he met to Natasha, and he always managed to favor her.

Bobbi was taller, about four inches shorter than Clint (unlike Natasha's eight) and was had long blonde hair that curled into itself. Her skin was tanned ever so slightly, devoid of ugly scars and she smelled like a meadow (Natasha smelled like cherry blossoms and peaches). She laughed easier and was quick to open up to Clint.

Bobbi was everything he'd always dreamed of. Maybe that's why he was so attracted to Natasha all those years ago: she was everything he never _knew_ he wanted.

But it was time to get her out of his mind, because Clint Barton was now a married man approaching his one year anniversary of holy matrimony, "Fury, my anniversary is in two weeks and you're sending us out on a _mission_?" Clint asked, sitting across from Fury and Coulson in the debriefing room. Bobbi sat next to him, arms crossed but otherwise impassive.

"If it weren't important we wouldn't be here now would we?" Replied Fury, sliding a thin mission folder to Bobbi and Clint, "You're going into the Canadian wilderness to oversee the transport of a _highly_ classified and _highly_ important piece of new SHIELD technology." Clint eyed Fury, the way he stressed the word "highly"; there was something he wasn't telling them.

"Transport? You want us to do a transport mission? It's the middle of November, we're going to turn into Popsicles out there." Bobbi asked, raising one eyebrow.

"You're _guarding_," he clarified, "if this piece of SHIELD tech doesn't make it back to us, there are going to be serious problems."

"I'll brief you on the mission details on the quinjet. We head out in an hour." Coulson gathered his file and stood to exit the briefing room followed by Fury.

As soon at the door shut right, Bobbi and Clint both glanced knowingly at each other. The suspicious behavior hadn't escaped either of them. Deciding to discuss the matter later, they both quickly went to their apartment to gather equipment and report to the quinjet.

* * *

_**Somewhere in the Canadian Mountains: Nov., 2011**_

Four hours later, Strike Team Zeta landed in Canada via parachutes while the quinjet headed to a nearby SHIELD facility in Washington state to get a better base of operations.

It was snowing lightly when they arrived. Clint shivered relentlessly from the cold. The tech they were guarding was contained in a small one by one foot steel box in one of the transport trucks. Bobbi sat next to the driver of the decoy and Clint next to the guy carrying the real deal. Inside each container were three armed guards. The trucks had reinforced everything as to ensure things went wrong as little as possible.

The supplies they gathered were meant to only get them to the edge of the mountains, about 6 days trip, where they would then switch transport.

The first two days passed without incident.

On the third day, the engine carrying the SHIELD tech started to smoke. Black clouds of exhaust coughed out from under the hood and from the muffler.

"God dammit! I just got it fixed!" The driver cursed as he got out into the snow to check on the truck. Clint took this time to do his rounds, checking on Bobbi, cheiking on the guards, and taking a leak. Huddled under a thick coat and beanie, he failed to notice the small white figure in the shadows of a nearby mountain.

The figure was covered from head to toe in white tactical gear, their face obscured by a mask around their mouth and nose. The eyes, however, glowed a mechanical green behind black glasses, shielding them from the snow; light scars littered the edges around the eyes. The figure pulled out a bow and drew an arrow, slowly straightening their back as they pulled on the string. Taking aim, the figure released the arrow.

Clint heard an all too familiar whistle in the distance, but before he could register location and intended target, the driver of his vehicle was suddenly impaled to the engine. The man screamed in pain before a small explosion rendered the engine useless and the driver severely injured.

Another whistle and he ducked behind the second truck, "Clint, what the _hell_!" Bobbi yelled from the other truck as she loaded her weapon.

"Not me, I swear!" He ran back to the first truck to get his bow. Whoever this person was, they were gonna pay for trying to outshine him.

By the time he gathered his bow and took aim at where he calculated the arrows came from, he heard quick movements and grunting from the inside of the truck. "How the hell did he get down here already?" Irritated, Clint drew his handgun and approached the rear.

The six guards on both trucks were now on the ground, clearly knocked out. Looking inside, Clint realized the truck was empty. _'Bastard has the tech.'_ He growled and called out for Bobbi.

"_In pursuit!_" she called out through her comm. _'This person is fast'_, she thought as she sprinted after the thin white figure.

Bobbi chucked an empty gun clip at the figure and caught up as the person stumbled to the ground. They fought and tumbled. Bobbi realized she was fighting a woman, a _strong _woman, and she was being overpowered by this person. Bobbi hadn't managed to land a single hit but she herself was aching all over. A quick blow to the head dazed Bobbi and she fell to the ground.

Clint was sprinting towards them when he saw Bobbi crumble to the ground. The figure hesitated for a moment, looking directly at Bobbi. He took this opportunity to sneak up on the assailant. He jumped from above and knocked the person to the ground. Up close, he could see the curves and lean structure that rendered the figure female. Regardless, this woman knocked out his wife,; now she was going to pay.

Without hesitation, Clint launched himself at her, throwing blow after blow but not landing a hit. She ducked and swept his feet from under him. He fell but rolled away when she tried to straddle him. He caught her from behind but was thrown over her shoulder and again met the cold hard ground. Taking out a knife. He lashed out at her when she came up from behind. She held a hand to her face as the white fabric obscuring it slowly blossomed red with blood.

Clint was huffing and took a battle stance, ready for any move she might pull; however, when she turned around, Clint swore his heart stopped. In the heat of the battle, he had failed to actually _look _at his opponent. But now, with the mask gone, he saw her. Those familiar red lips, that pale skin tinted with pink from the cold. All was familiar—except for those eyes. The iris glowed a shade of green and dark red. There were faint scars around the eyes and thin lines of nerves and veins ghosted to the surface of her porcelain skin. She looked possessed, and maybe she was, but she looked like _her_.

"Natasha?" Clint whispered incredulously, his posture now slacking.

Her eyes flickered with familiarity, but were quickly turned to stone as she threw herself at him and knocked him to the ground. Red locks cascaded down the side of her face like a crimson veil shielding her features. Her hands closed around his throat as blood dripped from the cut on her cheek. She growled at him but her eyes betrayed her. They weren't murderous, like the rest of body. No, they looked..._betrayed_. Her grip wasn't as tight as it could've been, he should know, having been in this situation multiple times. He could see she didn't want to do this. He could see it was an act, _'But for who?' _He thought.

She looked to be weighing her options before she drew her gun and pulled her arm back, ready to knock him out. Landing a hit, she dazed him and decided to give one last blow. A shot rang out and she grunted above him. Another shot and she was off.

Clint gasped for air once she let go and looked around. Natasha was sprinting and already had a good distance between them when she reached her snowmobile and jetted off at an even faster pace. He looked past his feet and saw Bobbi on her knees, gun still aimed at their attacker. Clint quickly made his way to her to assess any damage, "Clint, I'm fine." She shrugged him off, "That bitch just took the tech that we can't show up without. We need to track her." She said firmly.

"You know, you're always telling me to go with my gut instinct and my gut instinct is telling me that this was a set up," Bobbi eyed him curiously and he continued, "I think Fury knew something was up and he arranged this whole thing to confirm it," he paused, still trying to catch his breath, "and I think he just did." He nodded in the direction of the escaped attacker. "I think it's about time they loop us in, don't you?" Bobbi smirked at him as they helped each other up.

"I'm gonna go see what we can salvage and check up on the guys." Clint nodded in affirmation.

"I'll do a damage report," he motioned to the mess that was the truck and the scuffle behind him, "I'll catch up." She nodded and headed off.

Clint took out a small tube from his tactical belt and knelt down in the snow. Finding the more highly concentrated patch, he scooped up some of the blood stained snow and neatly packed it up. If it really was Natasha, DNA would confirm it. He looked into the direction she fled and couldn't help but worry. Bobbi had landed a hit. The truck radio had anticipated a heavy snow storm for later that day. Wherever she was, Natasha was bleeding and in need of shelter.

Sighing, Clint got to work on the damage report.

* * *

_**Northern Canadian Mountains: Abandoned log cabin**_

Natasha grunted as she barreled through the door of an abandoned cabin for the second time, successfully cracking the old wooden frame and breaking in. She landed on the ground with a thud with a tiny yelp before mustering up all her strength to kick the door closed and find the bed. She'd been shot through the back in the ribs just above her elbow, and, thanks to her _awesome_ good luck, the bullet had not been a through and through.

She was going to have to dig it out.

Her vision became clouded with static and she struggled to read the typed script. It read: **REPORT BACK AFTER STORM.**, a pause, **ALIVE.**

Irritated, she blinked and tried to focus on anything that wasn't the searing pain in her abdomen and back. Improvising, she tore off her bloody clothes and stuffed as much snow into them as possible, pressing the cold material into her throbbing abdomen. It helped numb the pain and it was also the only source of water she had.

"Time to suck it up, Natasha." She said to herself through gritted teeth as she took out one of her knives and held it over where the bullet was lodged. The computer in her head helped to scan the area and determine exact location. The only colors she saw were shades of green and, on occasion, red and white. Right now, she saw the red glow of the bullet beneath her skin. Her only mercy was that the bullet hadn't been a hollow point.

She gathered a wad of clothing and bit down on it firmly. Taking deep breaths, she finally brought the knife down and cut into herself. Natasha let out and agonizing groan and bit back a yelp. The rims of her eyes stung with tears, but she kept going. After what seemed like an eternity, she felt the hard lead surface of the bullet with her knife and dug it out. Her lungs let out a deep sigh of relief.

Removing the gag, she gasped and tried to calm her racing heart beat. She knew she was losing a lot of blood but she needed to move fast. Screwing her eyes shut, she tried to fight back the tears as sweat mixed with them. Natasha pulled out a sterile needle from her bag and proceeded to sew together both sides of her wounds.

Half an hour later, she hadn't moved from her spot against the worn bed frame. Her arms were by her sides, palms up in exhaustion, and her legs were outstretched in front of her. Her head was leaned back on the mattress looking up at the wooden ceiling creaking under the weight of the snow. Sweat still dotted her brow as she shut her eyes trying to breath deeply to calm the pain.

Her mind drifted to her most recent encounter with SHIELD. That was the first time she'd seen Clint in person in five years. Drakov made it a personal goal of his to update her on Clint's whereabouts to let her know they _always_ had eyes on him. That, and Drakov wanted to see the pain in her features when he told her of how he had moved on without her. He'd even sent her a wedding picture through the brain chip one day when she was doing recon for them. Natasha knew he couldn't have held on to her forever, but it still hurt to think that he had moved on. Unless they knew him before 2006, anyone that met Clint Barton would never know of his partnership with Nat Romanoff. She no longer existed in his life, not even in stories told at parties or in old pictures by the night stand.

She was back where she was ten years ago, back to her faceless and lonely existence. It felt like she was slowly being dragged into a black hole and no matter how hard she tried or how far she got, she was always dragged back in.

This was not living, this was existing. And so far, her existence has preserved the life of a man who has forgotten her and taken the lives of various innocent people.

This was the fourth time she'd been awake in the last five years. The last time she was taken out of cryo, she was active for three months doing various missions on behalf of Hydra. Each time she woke, the world felt ages different. The cryo made it seem like she only slept overnight. Truth was, she'd sleep for months at a time. The second time she woke up, she found out the US had elected its first Black president. Now, it seemed the war in Iraq was drawing to a close. But Natasha's mind was still stuck in 2006. Her head hurt anytime she tried to catch up to the present.

Current events aside, her thoughts always wandered back to Clint. He seemed to be happy, at least according to Drakov's updates. She always knew he'd end up happy, he was easy to love. Had it been the other way around and Clint in her position, Natasha knew she'd have ended up either dead from grief or killed on a reckless mission. Clint was like those dogs that find homes right away after being abandoned at the shelter because they're so kind and lovable despite whatever they'd endured. Natasha, however, was like the captured stray that ran away from an illegal dog fighting operation and had to be put down because it was too aggressive.

The blood loss was really getting to her if she was starting to make up analogies. Pushing those thoughts from her mind, Natasha pulled herself up onto the dusty bed and wrapped herself in a sturdy coat she'd packed. Her abdomen and back still pulsed with pain but the cold seemed to help numb it slightly.

Natasha glanced out the window one last time before tucking her chin and nose into the collar of the coat and trying to rest. She'd have to wait out the storm before she left.

At least she'd be warm.

* * *

**Shorter chapter, I know, but next one will be longer.**

**Okay so, sit-rep:**

**Natasha disappears on their mission in Kiev circa May 2006. It takes Clint about a year and a half to finally accept her death. By then he and Bobbi have already become well acquainted and are deemed the new top Strike Team. At this time, I estimated Bobbi to have been with SHIELD for about 4 years. Six months of dancing around each other before Clint and Bobbi start dating. Then its about two years of dating (4 years after Kiev) when they get married. So when they take the mission in Canada (2011), it's nearing 5 years since Kiev because Clint and Bobbi married in Nov and Kiev happened in May (by now, Bobbi's been with SHIELD for about 7 years).**

**As always, review! Constructive criticism is welcome! I like to know where I can improve.**

**PS: the cover image is what I imagined as Natasha's eyes (still taken from Scarlett Johansson's new movie, Lucy) (go watch it) (support Scarlettso they give**** her a chance at the long awaited Black Widow movie)**


	3. The Beast

**Disclaimer in chapter 1.**

**Special thanks to sailorraven34 and carolzocas for reviewing again, and to the people that followed/favorited the story me :)**

**PS: I fixed some grammatical errors in the first two chapter...if anyone was bothered by them.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_**SHIELD Headquarters, Washington DC: Five days later**_

"When were you going to tell us?" Clint demanded, pacing in the briefing room. He and Bobbi were once again face to face with Fury and Coulson, although Maria Hill was now with them as well.

"We had our suspicions for a while. Ever since you returned from Kiev." Hill answered.

Clint stopped pacing, "Five years, you've known _five years_ and you're telling me _now_?" anger and disbelief were evident in his voice.

"Yes and no. We knew someone with extensive SHIELD knowledge was behind all of these attacks, but it wasn't until you came in that we discovered it was Natasha." Hill opened up the manila folder and spread various photos across the table, "We've only gotten glimpses but never her full face."

Clint sat down and stared at the clearest photo. A woman in a sun hat and dark sunglasses glanced over her shoulder in high alert. Even there, her face was hardly visible, "The blood?" he asked evenly not taking his eyes off the photo.

"Perfect match." Coulson took out the DNA report and placed it in front of them, "However, the lab did find a foreign chemical in her system. Seems old but it bonded with the DNA of her blood and now reproduces with cells, causing a permanent mutation. The lab tech's said the chemical is commonly used among transplant patients so that the body doesn't reject the new organ; however, this variant is far more potent." Clint said nothing, just kept staring at the photo.

"So who gave her a transplant and what sick thing did they put in her?" Asked Bobbi.

"We don't know. When we were tracking her without knowing it was her, we found out that she was working on behalf of Hydra." This finally caught Clint's attention, "Her _work_ has severely damaged our scientific and reconnaissance divisions, namely the portions dedicated to tracking and neutralizing threats, like Hydra." Hill's voice was nothing but professional. Despite what people may have thought, she and Natasha had been something along the lines of friends before Natasha disappeared.

"What's the damage?" Bobbi furrowed her brow in determination.

Hill looked to Fury for approval. He nodded and she flipped onto the second page of the report in the folder, "January through February, 2007, various SHIELD assets met the business end of a FNP-45 Tactical. The slugs were untraceable." She paused and looked at her hands on the table, "Eighteen dead."

By now, Clint had had enough. He stood abruptly, "No! Natasha would _never _do that, not willingly."

"Clint—" Bobbi tried, but was cut off.

"No! This is Natasha we're talking about. She—she'd never turn on us. She's proud to be a part of SHIELD, she's…" Clint trailed off and ran a hand through his dirty blond hair. Bobbi couldn't help but be a little hurt at hearing him refer to Natasha in the present tense. They never talked about her. Natasha had become a taboo topic, a forbidden subject between him and anyone else.

"Five years ago, yeah, I agree, it would be unthinkable that she'd do this, but now?" Fury questioned, "She was captured by Hydra. The chemical is proof they put some weird shit in her. She's a weapon now, Barton, and," he hesitated, "she has to be stopped."

"She didn't kill those agents." Clint said plainly. They all looked at him confused, "The guys who were guarding your decoy tech, she didn't kill them, just knocked them out or injured them." He composed himself and sat back down, "If she really was just a weapon, she'd have killed them and us too, but she didn't." his jaw clenched in affirmation.

"Well if she's not doing this willingly, why hasn't she escaped? When have you ever known her to take orders she doesn't agree with from _people_ she doesn't agree with?" Bobbi asked from beside him.

"They have something on her, or someone, I don't know, but we have to help her. Who knows how long before she outlives her usefulness to them. I can't let her die, not again." Clint tried hard not to let his voice tremble or his emotions bleed through his words, but they could all see he wasn't taking no for an answer.

Fury nodded in agreement before he glanced at Hill to continue reading the incidents, "October through December of 2008, she managed to steal floor plans and passcodes to a SHIELD facility in Turkey. She got away with 18 oz. of lorium, an alien mineral that we were studying." She flipped a page on the report and continued, "March, 2009, a piece of invaluable computer tech. We are still trying to recover from that." another page, "December 2010 through January 2011, various secret world facilities and missions are compromised after files are leaked onto the internet and sold as intel to our enemies." She closed the file and crossed her hands on top of it, "And now this, an attempt on yet another piece of invaluable SHIELD tech with decades of research behind it."

"Do you think they're planning something? Like, gathering all of these materials and building a weapon of some sorts?" Bobbi always knew to ask the right questions.

Sighing, Fury responded, "All of these...blows haven't been random. They've all severely stalled a top secret and highly classified project. That's why all files relating to the project are on paper and not on the system. No one knows except us, the council, and the people working on it."

"I take it you're not going to tell us more than that?" Clint remarked.

"What we're telling you is already pushing the envelope, Barton. And what I'm telling you is that we have a mole. Maybe more than one. Hydra has never made it easy for us." Fury replied. A moment passed as he gathered up the right words, "You found her once, I want you to do it again."

"Sir?" It was Bobbi who reacted first.

Ignoring her, Fury continued, "Something is wrong, I want you two to find out what it is and bring her back in once piece. Of everyone here, you knew her best. Bad habits die hard, Barton, and you know her tells." He stood up and straightened his coat, "Use any SHIELD resource you need. Don't let me down,"

"Of course, sir." Clint answered. Nodding, Fury and Hill exited the briefing room.

* * *

"Clint," Bobbi tried to get his attention as he frantically moved throughout their apartment gathering supplies.

"Do you know where my extra arrowheads are? I swear I…" He trailed off, tossing up pillows and ignoring her attempts. Immediately after their meeting with Fury and the others, he's insisted on getting to work right away. Coulson had already reserved a quinjet for immediate take-off and Clint wasn't going to waste any time.

"Would you listen!" She'd finally had enough. Her outburst seemed to have drawn him back to the present. Clint stopped packing and let out a sigh.

"Okay, hey Bobbi—Bobbi, hey, I'm sorry. Okay?" He tried to gather her into his arms but she pushed him away. Clint sat on the edge of the bed, giving her some space.

"I just...I just don't want you to get hurt." She finally admitted. Clint let a smile tug at his lips and was about to tell her he was fine, that he was going to be okay when she cut him off, "And none of that 'don't worry, I'll be fine' bullshit, Francis." She warned. She always called him by his middle name when she was scolding him because 'Clint' just didn't seem to cut it, "Fury may be right. Maybe she's not who she was anymore and I just...I just don't want you to get hurt trying to save her when she may be too far gone."

"You're asking if I'm willing to kill my former partner." Clint clarified.

"I'm asking if you can find it in yourself to accept the fact that you may not be able to save her, Clint. At the end of the day, she's a threat and if she can't be helped…" She trailed off, looking deeply into Clint's eyes.

Bowing his head, he studied the callouses on his hands pensively before looking up at her, "Bobbi, if I couldn't find it in myself to kill her when I didn't know her, when I was told she was a ruthless killing machine, how can I do it when we were partners for five years? How can I do it if I know better?" He looked seriously into her eyes, pleading, but not demanding an answer to the question that plagued him since the debriefing.

"Then maybe you're not the person to hunt her down." She replied evenly.

He didn't know what to say.

Getting up, he finished packing their supplies.

* * *

_**Hydra Facility: Somewhere in Sweden**_

After wading out the storm for five days, Natasha had managed to stowaway on a cargo ship and limp back to Sweden just in time for dinner. Drakov sipped his glass of wine and stared at the woman standing at the end of his dinner table. She'd always thought how unnecessary it was to have such a large table for a single person but she never voiced her opinions out loud.

"What are you doing here, Natasha?" He asked as he wiped his mouth with a napkin and threw it angrily at the plate. He stood and slowly walked around the length of the table to stand next to her.

"You called me here; how should I know?" She still faced the dinner table, chin up and unfazed by his presence over her right shoulder. The situation reminded her of the girls in the Red Room. They'd stand straight like soldiers as instructors circled them like hungry sharks, hands behind their backs firmly gripping a long thin whip.

"No, Natasha," his voice was full of controlled anger, "I mean, what are you doing _here_, for me?" It was a question he asked her any time he thought she'd forgotten about the person's life he had constantly hanging over her head.

"I'm here to follow your orders." She replied mechanically. Her face was devoid of emotion. Black glasses hung on the collar of her shirt under her warm dark blue jacket that insulated her still healing bullet wound.

"And why's that?" He added, through gritted teeth.

She clenched her jaw and replied, "Because you can kill Clint Barton with the push of a button."

"That's right, Natasha." He circled behind her and to her left, eyes never leaving her, "And you're on thin ice as it is, with your stunt last time you were out." Her mind flashed back to January, when she tried to leak Hydra secrets among the loads of SHIELD intelligence. She still couldn't feel a thing in her last three fingers of her right hand. He took her silence as recollection of the event before continuing, "So now, I'm am curious as to why my boss OPENED UP AN EMPTY STEEL CONTAINER THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO HOUSE SHIELD'S LATEST REMOTE WEAPONS CONTROL CHIP!" His voice boomed in the dining room and barraged Natasha's unsuspecting eardrums as he yelled directly into them.

Unfazed, she simply answered, "I wasn't ordered to check the contents."

She knew that would set him off, but by this point, she'd stopped caring. That, and she needed to get back to her cell as soon as possible.

Drakov growled in frustration before pressing a trigger on a small remote in his hand and watched Natasha crumble to the ground, clutching her head with both of her hands.

She fell to her knees as pain blossomed into her head and caused her ears to ring at an incredibly high pitch. Her vision began to static again as her brain became overwhelmed with sensation. It was things like pain that caused the brain chip to malfunction and try to do various things at once, ultimately making the pain worse.

Natasha felt her wrists being pulled and cuffed while she was still doubled over in the ground grunting bad grounding her teeth together, trying not to yell out. She briefly heard Drakov bark orders at the guard before she was hauled off.

By the time she realized she was back in her cell, the guard had already shut the steel frame of the clear bullet proof door. Her vision cleared momentarily before shutting off completely. The sound of the guard's boots against the concrete floor echoed as he exited the hall and locked the door behind him.

Natasha picked herself off the floor and leaned against the bed frame so she was opposite the cell door. Reaching into her coat pocket, she pulled out a piece of tech she snagged while still in Canada, smirking to herself. She turned around and felt under the mattress before pulling out a small rectangular object that was just missing the piece in her hand to make up an EMP device. Natasha quickly got to work adding the last piece; the device was crudely put together, improvised with the materials she had. People always had a habit of underestimating her intelligence. In her line of work, however, this resulted in the advantage that was the element of surprise.

Finally done with assembly, Natasha stowed the device in her pocket and sat cross legged on the cot, waiting. This period in between the end of her mission and cryo always consisted of waiting. They'd leave her alone for days before fetching her to be chemically frozen. It was time she didn't waste. She would try to navigate without her sight, using sound and vibrations to guide her.

"Thank God for Matt Murdock," she'd said once. The blind superhero had insisted on teaching her to not always rely on her sight back when they had briefly worked together. Natasha's Red Room enhancers gave her already keen senses an extreme boost. When her vision shut off, she found herself able to navigate with just the sound of her boots shuffling across the ground, or being able to tell how tall a person was based on how the sound of their steps echoing in a given space. Her body quickly compensated for the loss, but she still occasionally grew frustrated because she, at heart, was someone who deeply relied on sight to gather details, details that normal people would usually glaze over. This attention to detail had often saved her life. Now, it was gone, and she was just going to have to deal with it.

Natasha sat idly on her her cot, still waiting. She put her middle and forefinger to the glass covering her wrist watch. The vibrations of each ticking second were picked up easily and she estimated it was almost seven, which meant it was almost time.

She waited for another five minutes, and ran through her plan one last time before throwing herself on the ground and yelling at the top of her lungs. A guard quickly came to check on her. He froze when he saw her convulsing on the ground, seemingly in pain before opening the cell door to check on her.

Natasha reacted quickly, locking his head between her arms and knocking him out on the steel frame of her cot. He collapsed; she took his key card and baton, walked out of the cell, and locked him in.

She used the wall to guide her exit. Unlocking the door with the key card, she banged the baton against the door and let the space carry the echo. The long hallway was empty. She walked a few feet to get the chair the guard had been sitting on and used it to get up into a ventilation shaft about ten feet from the door.

Years of sneaking throughout SHIELD via the ventilation shafts had prepared her for this moment. She crawled for ages before she picked up on a distinct voice. The shafts were ideal for her now preferred sound navigation. Smirking, she proceeded until she was over the ventilation opening to the room that held that voice.

Below her was Drakov's lab. The smell of beakers boiling over fire caught her nose. He was looking through a microscope on a table against the wall, recording his notes, "Test subject A seems to have died of shock. The chemical still lingered in its system so it was likely the dosage was either too high or too overwhelming for its system. Re-test next week."

He was about to turn around when he suddenly found himself being choked from behind with a black baton, "I think you're done with your experiments for now, Drakov." Natasha growled into his ear from his left.

"What are you doing, N-Natasha!" He choked out.

"Nothing. What are you doing?" She asked rhetorically, sarcasm leaking through. She didn't wait for a response before she slammed his head into the steel table and dazed him. Guiding herself with the sound, she hauled him up and brought him over to the boiling beakers. Taking his hands, she pressed them firmly onto the fire and listened to his cries of pain at the flesh melted and cooked under the flames.

She let him go as he shook and cried out in pain, "Don't be such a wimp, Drakov." He lashed out but she caught his arm under her boot, "Now that you can't scan your fingerprint to activate his nanites, we have a little more time."

"I have someone else that can activate them! You've just killed him, Romanoff!" He yelled, voice still trembling with pain.

"Don't try to fool me, Drakov. We both know how controlling and paranoid you are. You'd never let someone other than yourself press that button. _You_ want to be the one to kill him." She kneeled down and hauled him up again, throwing him into one of his chairs, "Without you, the nanites might as well not be there. The burns on your hands won't be able to scan for activation anymore. It's over, Drakov."

"I can reprogram. I can change it for something else and when I do I'm going to kill you and your petty archer!" His voice was full of childish petulance. She heard his breath catch in his throat she she neared him. He looked up at her, her eyes unseeing and looking through him.

"You forget, Drakov, that I don't plan on leaving here with you still breathing." A moment passed before he understood and before he could protest, Natasha's hands were around his head. With one sharp movement, his neck snapped with a sickening crack and he fell to the ground with a dull thud.

Natasha stood frozen over Drakov's lifeless body. _'It's over, Natasha. It's over.'_ She mentally repeated to herself. It seemed unreal that it took her five years to kill this man. She was pulled from her thoughts when a small flickering around above her head began to pester her. It seemed to be a light, flickering on a loop. Listening for an alarm, she found none. After a moment she realized what it was. If she could see, she'd see the light in the room flash red every two seconds.

They knew she'd escaped. Now she needed to run. Taking the remote Drakov always kept in his coat pocket, Natasha got moving.

She quickly dashed out of the lab and towards her next destination. In the hall, she heard the sounds of guards chasing after her. She rounded a corner and pulled out her EMP device. Aiming it at the approaching guards, she turned it on and heard them fall to the ground like flies. Every single one of the guards at the facility was a test subject for the computer implant inside of Natasha. The EMP device rendered them useless for at least a half an hour. She had to be careful though, because she'd meet the same fate if she aimed the device incorrectly.

On one of the deepest levels, Natasha found the control room that housed hard drive upon hard drive of Hydra intel and, among the intel, the controls that could set off Clint's nanites. Taking out two thumb drives she lifted off an unsuspecting victim, she plugged them in to the main computer. Seven attempts later, they started downloading data. She expertly placed explosives she'd stolen from some of the guards around the room and wired them together as best she could. Her fingers felt the vibrations of the wires for their colors. Sometimes she thought about how her senses compensated to the extreme but she was grateful. In her focus, she'd missed the sound of three guards trying to sneak into the room before they started firing at her. She ducked as the bullets missed and damaged the hard drives. Feeling around for the EMP, she fired it at then and they collapsed. Finishing up her handy work, she quickly modified the remote she stole from Drakov to remotely detonate the explosives.

Thumb drives in hand, she once again banged her baton on the steel door. She hesitated while she was navigating the guards' quarters, her nose picking up on a familiar smell of fur and slobber.

Natasha finally found her way out of the partially underground facility. She pushed all of her weight against the heavy steel door as it creaked open. She could smell rain in the air as the humidity filled her lungs. Once outside, she pushed the button on her impromptu remote. A low grumble emulated from the building and the ground trembled beneath her feet. She heard the outside concrete walls crack from the blast. Not wasting anytime, Natasha lightly tugged on the leash of what felt like a German Shepherd mix that the guards kept around for their own amusement. The grooves on the dog tag told Natasha his name was Gus and that he was barely a year old.

Letting the dog take the lead, they vanished into the Swedish forest. Marks on the trees let Natasha know they were on the right path. Gus's gentle panting helped put her at ease. There was something reassuring about having another presence beside her that could see. For the first time in years, Natasha felt a flicker of safety. After about an hour of hiking, Gus suddenly halted at the faint sound of leaves crunching in the distance, automatically putting Natasha on high alert. Both of them perked their ears to find the source. Gus let out a yelp and ran forward, ripping the leash from Natasha's hand. She felt lost; her previous methods of echolocation didn't work so well in such open spaces.

She tired to feel around and find Gus's leash, calling out his name, when she was tackled from behind.

* * *

**I've gotta say, I'm proud of myself for coming up with the idea of giving Natasha a dog. He makes for some much needed subtle humor in later chapters.**

**Please review, you guys! As I said earlier, I've got loads of material pre-written. I'm holding out on you guys. Encourage me to upload with your kind words! Creative criticism is welcome. **

**PS: For those of you that don't know, Matt Murdok is the blind superhero commonly known as Dare Devil (played by Ben Affleck way back when). In the comics, he and Natasha had a thing (even in Nathan Edmonson's current Black Widow solo title) and he's kinda cool, too.**


	4. Hope

**Disclaimer**** in chapter 1**

**Thanks to all that reviewd and followed the story! It's really encouraging and you guys make my day.  
**

**This is a lot of Clint and Bobbi with some Natasha at the end.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_**Canadian airspace: 8 hours ago**_

Bobbi sat with her legs and arms crossed as the quinjet trembled with turbulence. She glared at Coulson who sat opposite her.

"Hey now, don't give me that look, Bobbi. He won't tell me where we're going either." He defended. Coulson was wearing his usual suit and tie get up, despite being out of the office.

Defeated, Bobbi looked annoyingly at the man in question piloting the jet. Clint had refused to disclose his knowledge and intentions to anyone until he confirmed his "theory".

"We'd better find out soon before I open up this compartment and chuck him out of the jet, Robinhood gear and all." Bobbi said as she felt the quinjet slowly make its descent.

Once on the ground, Clint gathered some supplies and walked past the two agents without acknowledgment. They followed him for about half and hour as they hiked down a small mountain and into a small town at the base, "Clint, where the hell are we _going_ " Bobbi demanded, growing impatient with his persistent silence.

"Patience, Bobbi." Was all he said as they approached a small inn. Its outer walls were a warm brown shade. When they walked inside, the smell of burning firewood filled their nostrils. The inn was headed by a white haired elderly woman that sat behind a tall wooden desk, scribbling into an open book.

Her face lit up with recognition when she saw him, "Francis!" She said delightedly. The small woman leaped off her stool and practically ran towards him with all of her tiny might.

"Selma!" Clint returned, opening his arms to her. She was about half his size but she tried to lift him nonetheless.

"I thought I'd never see you again after you came through here." She looked up at him and motioned for them to sit at a nearby table. Glancing at Bobbi, Selma's smile faltered, "What happened to Natalia? What did you _do_, Francis?" She asked with humorous accusation.

"Well, Selma, that's why we're here. She's in danger."

Selma's face grew serious. Without another word, she went behind her desk and pulled open a drawer. Taking the lone key inside it, she handed it to Clint, "I have not seen her come through here, but knowing her, she would have found a way to get whatever she needed to leave inside." She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "Whatever it is, I hope it helps you find her. She's a good person, Francis." Selma eyed Bobbi in her peripheries, "And a good woman." Bobbi rolled her eyes. Selma faced Coulson and Bobbi, "Excuse me, I must get back to work.

Clint nodded in thanks and motioned to the others to leave.

"Are we going to get an explanation now, _Francis_?" Bobbi asked mockingly.

"Seven years ago, Natasha and I were sent on a mission together, except we couldn't have any direct contact. We knew Selma from previous missions. That inn she runs had been a refuge for us a couple of times." They walked back up the mountain to the quinjet, "Anyways, when we were sent on this particular mission, Selma allowed us to use an old cabin that used to belong to her husband. We'd leave messages for each other there. Coordinates, coded updates, but only when necessary. A few towns over, there's a small cafe. Natasha insisted on using arrows to signify a message at the cabin. Arrows crossed over each other facing down meant an urgent message." He paused as they kept climbing.

"So it's no coincidence that she ambushed us with those arrows a while back?" Bobbi asked.

"I saw the damage report," Coulson said, a smirk tugging at his lips, "I had my suspicions. I can't _believe_ that's what you guys refused to tell me. A secret communication system? I thought it was something more complicated than _that_."

Clint chuckled at the memory of driving Coulson mad when Clint and Natasha had returned from the mission safely and refused to give up their secret to survival, "Sometimes simpler is better, Coulson."

"I don't mean to rain on your parade, but what if it's a trap? What if she knows it's the first place you'll look? She could be waiting there, or the place could be rigged." Bobbi said from behind.

Finally reaching the quinjet, they huffed in exertion, "We'll just have to wait and find out." Clint said and walked back into the jet and typed in the coordinates to the drop site.

No more than an hour later, they descended onto a flat mountain top still covered in snow from the most recent storm, "There," Clint said, pointing to a small structure about thirty meters below. Finding the easiest route, the trio descended onto the edge supporting the wooden cabin. Clint examined the cracked door frame as Bobbi and Coulson used SHIELD scanners to peek inside.

Clint looked at the bloody palm print that covered the door handle.

"Clean." Called Coulson from behind him. Clint slid the key into the lock and found it opened. Pushing the door, it creaked as it revealed the insides of the dimly lit cabin.

Coulson and Bobbi walked past him and immediately got to looking around. The first thing they saw was blood. Bloody white fabric littered the cabin floor, "You're a good shot, Bobbi." Clint deadpanned. As he searched for Natasha's hidden message. Bobbi just gave him an annoyed look.

"This looks like something," offered Coulson, who had busied himself spreading out the bloody white cloth. Digits written out in blood were visible on its bloody surface.

"Numbers," stated Bobbi.

"Coordinates. She's telling us where she's at. Looks like Europe." Clint immediately exited the cabin, "We need to move now."

Following behind him, they boarded the quinjet and headed to Sweden.

Coulson now piloted the jet after insisting it was his turn. Which left Clint sitting across from Bobbi. He eyed her curiously as she zoned out, lost in thought, "What's on your mind?" He finally asked.

She looked up at him, sighing, "It could still be a trap Clint and I know you don't want to hear this," she added, as he began to shake his head, "But one of us needs to remain objective here."

"More like pessimistic. Could you at least let me hold on to my hope until the moment I'm wrong?" He asked in frustration.

"Touch down in two." Coulson called from the cockpit.

"We'll find out soon enough." She said, throwing his words back at him.

After a less than pleasant landing, thanks to Coulson's piloting skills, Clint and Bobbi gathered their gear to head out, "Comms online?" Asked Coulson.

"Comms online." Confirmed Bobbi and Clint. Coulson leaned back on the co-pilots chair and held up one of the high tech tablets. Two small red dots signified the both Bobbi and Clint's location.

"Alright, be careful you two." They nodded and headed into the Swedish forest. The sky was oppressively cloudy as night began to descend onto their surroundings. The air grew humid as light drizzle fell from the clouds. Before long, their boots were covered in a thin layer of mud.

It took them a while to navigate but when they reached the spot they found nothing. Examining the surrounding trees, Clint saw two arrows carved onto the bark of an old tree. They pointed up.

"This is the right spot." He said over his shoulder.

"Well she's not here." Bobbi stated, putting her hands on her hips.

"Obviously." Clint turned on his heel and walked towards her, "You get that, Phil?" He asked through his comm.

_"Copy. You guys can either hold your position and wait for her or fan out and search. I'd suggest against the former." _

"You're right. If this is a trap we're sitting ducks here out in the open." She kicked up some fallen leaves with her boot.

Clint let out a sigh and looked around trying to figure out where Natasha would come from, "Okay, we'll search." He grinned at Bobbie, "Bird's eye view?"

She gave him a '_duh'_ look and marched off into the forest. It had become a habit of theirs. She would get up close and personal while he would hang back and "see better from a distance". It's like he used to do with Natasha, except she'd call it "bird's ass view" because often times, when she was sent in to seduce a mark, the moment she was a safe enough distance away, he'd start a one sided conversation he knew she couldn't reply to without compromising her position.

Refocusing, Clint began his search for higher ground. Bobbi snaked her way through the forest, being wary of not stepping in any large puddles on strange looking "mud". After an hour, she began to grow impatient. '_If they're going to ambush us, make it soon,'_ she thought to herself. She was about to double back when Clint's voice came through her comm, "H-hey Bo—bi I think—movem-nt—careful—!" his words came in broken syllables.

"What? Clint, you're cutting off. I can't hear you." She listened intently but all she heard was static. "Great." she said as she decided to go back, hoping the connection would fix itself once she was in range. It took her a while to register the new sound. It sounded like..._panting_? A dog, panting. She stilled as she tried to find the source. Bobbi quickly took cover behind a tree. In her haste, she missed the dry tree branch beneath her boot as it crunched under her weight. Cursing, she hoped they didn't notice.

Looking past the tree she was hiding behind, Bobbi saw a dog and a person whose face was covered by a dark hood. They both froze, the dog's ears moved trying to find the source of the sound. Improvising, Bobbi pulled out a tranq dart and fired it at the dog before quickly circling behind the person.

She found it odd that the person, which upon closer inspection she determined was a woman, didn't react normally. The woman groped around _feeling_ for the dog's leash instead of just walking towards its position not ten feet in front of her. However, Bobbie didn't give it further thought as she tackled the woman to the ground. They rolled and tumbled until Bobbi's back met the hard surface of a tree and had the air knocked out of her. The woman's hood was pulled back during their fall and revealed her wavy red hair. Bobbi froze as the woman tried to feel around at the ground in an attempt to grab her bearings. Finding what she was looking for, the woman swung a police baton at Bobbi's head, who managed to duck just in time. It let out a dull crack as it met the wooden surface behind her.

It was then that Bobbi looked at the woman's face, '_Natasha.'_ she thought. She gazed into her frantic eyes, noting their deep red and green color.

Natasha grew frustrated with her own lack of coordination. One thing Matt failed to teach her fully was how to effectively fight in close combat without her sight. Her more than keen senses picked up on a feminine scent and approximate location in front of her, but other than generalities, she couldn't figure out exactly who was in front of her. She huffed in anger when her baton missed its target.

"Natasha," called the woman's voice. Natasha froze at the familiarity but couldn't place the voice, "Natasha, my name is Bobbi Morse. Do you remember me?" Bobbi asked hesitantly.

Natasha quickly recomposed herself before growling at the woman and launching herself once more. She knew that the rational thing to do was ask where Clint was, if he got her message. But the instinct inside of her, the animal that saved her when there was no time to think things through, overcame her. She was angry, to say the least. Angry that Clint had chosen to marry the woman Natasha had once quarreled with. Angry that this woman had easily claimed what Natasha herself denied. Angry that this woman was everything Natasha wasn't. So Natasha really couldn't say she was surprised when Bobbi reacted to her literal blind rage with full force. Years ago, there lived no man or woman that had ever bested the Black Widow in a fight. But she was not the Black Widow anymore, nor was she Natasha Romanoff, she was a shell of what used to be SHIELD's top agent and the world's deadliest assassin.

Bobbi managed to land hit after hit as Natasha tried and failed to defend herself and simultaneously attack. As she rolled back, she heard Gus's faint whimper behind her. Attacking her new dog? That's where Natasha drew the line. Before she could pin point Bobbi's approximate location, she heard a small high pitched whistle slice through the air and she knew what was coming. The only thing her hearing helped her with was reacting in time to avoid the arrow head that was aimed non fatally at her leg. She estimated that since the sound wasn't as shrill as it normally was, that it wasn't a sharp tip he'd launched at her.

Bobbi noted Natasha's moment of distraction and quickly tackled her to the ground and stuck her with a tranq she's used on the dog. Struggling, Natasha let out a frustrated growl as she lay on her stomach with Bobbi straddling her back. Her thoughts grew foggy and she could no longer stay aware. The last thing she remembered was picking up on Clint's familiar scent.

* * *

**Shorter**** chapter, I know. I'll update first thing tomorrow but if I get a decent amount of reviews, I just might update twice today... :)**


	5. Arrival

**Disclaimer in chapter 1. **

**Okay, so second update today cuz the last one was half the length of the usual. Thanks again to all you guys that reviewed and favorited! **

* * *

_**SHIELD Medical, Washington DC, 7:38 AM**_

"She attacked _me_, Clint." defended Bobbi. She sat across from him in the cafeteria of the medical wing at HQ. He'd given her the cold shoulder the entire ride back from Sweden. Clint had insisted on cradling Natasha's head in his lap as she lay unconscious in the quinjet; Bobbi held the leash of the German Shepherd as it too slept the entire ride back. Upon arrival, Natasha was immediately escorted into the medical ward for examination, armed guards in tow. It was like time had tuned back to 2001, when he'd first brought her in.

He picked at the eggs on his plate, "I know, Bobbi," he admitted. He dropped his utensil and reached for her hand across the table. When she didn't pull back, he continued, "I was just in shock, I still am, and I'm sorry. I thought she was dead, we all did."

Bobbi pursed her lips together as she nodded in understanding, "What ever they did to her seriously messed her up, Clint." she looked at him seriously, "I mean, did you _see_ her? The way she reacted, the _dog_, I mean…" She trailed off, trying to wrap her head around things as she spoke.

"I know, Bobbi. We'll find out when she wakes up." He reassured her.

"That might be sooner than you think," Coulson said from a distance behind them, "Doctor say she's stirring. I think it might help if she sees a familiar face when she wakes." Clint looked at Bobbi for any signs of protest. She nodded in encouragement and they got up and followed Coulson to the Natasha. A guard stood tall beside the door, armed and focused. Clint hesitated when he saw Natasha's silhouette through the blinds of the hospital window from the hall. She was sitting up and a faint argument could be heard from inside. The doctor exited the room and met them in the hall.

"How is she?" Clint asked as soon as the doctor closed the door behind her. The young woman was chewing on a piece of red licorice.

"Well, she's certainly awake. She's fine aside from the healing bullet wound and stuff on her midsection, a couple of scrapes and bruises, and…" The doctor struggled to find the right words to explain the last bit of information.

"And what, Doc?" Clint demanded.

Sighing she replied, "You should see for yourself." She moved to walk away when she turned back, "Also, she keeps demanding to see "_Gus"_?" She looked between them for any sign of recognition, "If you know who he is, I suggest you let the two interact. She's stressed and needs to relax if she expects to get out of here any time soon." Turning on her heel, the doctor left the three agents alone in the hall.

"Gus? That's the name I read on the dog's collar." Bobbi said.

"Yeah. Little guy is down in holding. The guard said he whined all night." Coulson replied as he checked his watch, "I'm gonna go see if they'll let me bring him up here."

"I'll go, too." Offered Bobbi, noting the pensive look in Clint's features as he stared intently into Natasha's room.

"Yeah," Clint said to no one in particular as Coulson and Bobbi left him alone in the hall. '_Get a grip, Clint, come on.' _He moved towards the door and let out a shaky breath before turning the knob.

Natasha sat up on the bed. To her right was a large window feeding light into the room. Her head immediately snapped towards the sound of the door opening and she waited for the person to announce themselves, although she already knew who it was. His familiar scent filled her nostrils as he dragged his feet closer to her.

Clint clenched his jaw and tried to smirk but ended up looking like he winced. He was immediately alarmed by Natasha's lack of eye contact. She seemed to face only his general direction. It was hard to see the detail in her face as the sun light behind her cast a shadow over her features. Unsure of what to say, he simply greeted her, "Hey,"

She didn't say anything at first, or give him any signs that she'd heard him, "Could you close the blinds? I think it's bright in here." He complied and dimmed the blinds before taking a seat in one of the firm chairs to her left. He kept his distance, unsure of how she'd react, "I'm sure you've guessed by now," she said. Her voice was calm and even.

"Guessed what?" It was a dumb thing to say, he knew it, but his mouth moved before he could stop it.

If she was annoyed by it, she didn't show it. Natasha simply clarified, "I'm blind. Can't you tell?" She turned her head towards him and he could finally see the details. Her eyes were no longer that bright red he'd seen when he was guarding the convoy, but they were still unusual. The green eyes he remembered had traces of dark red in them. Small thin nerves were faintly visible under the skin around her eyes, not as much as before, but still there.

"Natasha," his voice was laced with sorrow, "what happened?" He asked cautiously.

She turned away from him and licked her parched lips, "Water?" She beckoned, avoiding his question. He looked around momentarily, "Behind you." She offered. Taking the pitcher, he poured the liquid into the pink plastic cup and put in a straw. He held it out for her and when she didn't immediately take it, he placed it in her hand. Goosebumps ran up his arm at as his fingers brushed up against hers. _'She's real, she's real.'_ He mentally reminded himself. Natasha seemed to have noticed his reaction because she smirked as she sipped from the straw, slightly pleased with herself.

"You've changed, but you haven't." Clint thought aloud, recognizing the smirk she'd given him a thousand times.

"You did." She said, smirk quickly fading.

Realizing her implications, Clint moved to defend himself, "Nat, I thought you were—" he tried to place his hand on her arm and, but she interrupted him, furrowing her brow and shaking her head.

"Don't call me that," she snapped, pulling her arm away, "You don't get to call me that."

"Natasha, I—" but he was yet again cut off by a light knock at the door. He mentally cursed the universe for never letting him finish his sentences.

Natasha heard the excited sound of dull claws on the tile floor and light panting before she felt the onslaught of an overjoyed dog. Gus ran out of Coulson's grasp and onto Natasha's bed, where he proceeded to rub himself all over her. She couldn't hold back her smile at the warm contact. All previous anger forgotten, she turned towards the door and offered her thanks.

"My pleasure, kid." Coulson replied. Gus settled and claimed his spot over Natasha's legs, eying the visitors with caution.

Not averting her gaze from Gus, Natasha bit on the inside of her lip, "I'd like to be alone," they glanced at each other before Clint got up and opened the door for Bobbi, "With Coulson." She added as Coulson gently placed Gus's leash in her hand. Clint didn't hesitate to exit; Bobbi quickly followed behind him.

Coulson sat down in the chair Clint had vacated and rested his hands in his lap. His elbows were comfortably propped up on the armrests as he looked her over. She looked virtually the same: her hair was a little bit shorter, now up to her shoulder blades, and her skin was the same shade of Russian porcelain; however, once you looked past the obvious blindness, her eyes appeared..._older_. Coulson could see a type of calm in them he'd never seen in her before, a calm that was usually associated with apathy and resignation. It was like she'd given up on everything to the point where she couldn't even bring herself to _look_ like she cared.

It was Natasha that broke the silence first, "What's gonna happen to me?" She asked, almost fearfully.

"I really don't know, Natasha." His reply was genuine and his voice soft, "There are still exams they want to put you through, to see if they can reverse whatever they did to you. Take some brain scans or MRIs."

"If they put me through an MRI, they'll kill me." She took his silence as confusion and continued, "They stuck a computer in me. I saw it. It has metal parts—magnetic parts—that would screw up images." She bowed her head and gently began to pet Gus's fur, "Besides, there's no point, it can't be reversed. The tech that allowed me to see was destroyed when I escaped and the program was too big to copy into the thumb drives."

"That's the other thing." Coulson let a smile tug at his lips, "You're legally dead and yet you still managed to gather loads of Hydra intel that will cripple the organization. I don't know how you do these thing, Romanoff."

Her face lightened, "Well it was obvious you guys were lost without me." A comfortable silence filled the room once more.

"Natasha," Coulson's voice turned serious, "there's also the matter of your debriefing." He paused to gage her reaction, "The council is gonna be present. Fury and Hill will want to talk to you, but it's obvious that they both don't want to let you go."

"And what would I do? Work at a desk?" She gave an empty chuckle, "Coulson, can't you see that I've lost my trade? I'm useless like this. Sure my senses are probably compensating more than the average person, but I can't get a grip on my surroundings when things move fast. I mean, did Bobbi tell you how _pathetic_ our fight was? If you can call it a fight." She turned away from him and faced the window, allowing the morning sun to warm her face.

"You'll never know if you don't try. At least let the doctors have a look, maybe remove the tech. You forget that SHIELD is decades ahead of outside world," she turned her head further out of his sight, "Natasha, please." She looked down then at him before nodding, "Okay then, I'll call in the doctor and you two can talk. That okay?" She nodded again.

"You know, I didn't come back to come back," she said "I came back to give SHIELD that intel and to explain myself. That's how I'll atone. I know the lives I took were irreplaceable. What I did was..."she trailed off, "I can't belong here anymore. I'm a man out of time, a misplaced puzzle piece."

Unsure of what to say, Coulson simply took her hand in his and held it gently, "You're gonna be fine, Natasha. You always end up surviving, one way or another." She heard his smile and nodded, "If it means anything, Fury kept this whole thing under wraps. No one outside a select group of people know about your direct involvement. As far as the rest of SHIELD is concerned, you were kidnapped and fought your way back to us kicking and screaming." He got up and straightened his coat to walk out, "Which isn't too far off from the truth." A smirk tugged at Natasha's lips.

"Hey, Phil," he paused and turned around, "Thanks, for being the only one who didn't try to injure me."

He chuckled at her reference to Bobbi and Clint, "Couldn't have tried even if I wanted to. Who do you think kept watch over the quinjet?" She smiled at him and he quietly exited her room.

Left alone, Gus snuggled closer to her and let out a tired dog sigh before dozing off.

* * *

_**SHIELD Medical, two weeks later**_

Dr. Garcia, the physician that saw Natasha when she first came in, was now in charge of doing Natasha's assessment. The doctor was a fairly young woman, one of those unfocused young genius types that could be obsessive and messy, yet effective. Natasha estimated Dr. Garcia to be about her own height only much more lanky. Ordering brain scan after brain scan and blood test after blood test, and even x-rays, the Good Doctor tried to assess the damage that the foreign chemical and the implant did to Natasha's system, "Well, there it is," Said Dr. Garcia, chewing on yet another piece of red licorice as she pondered the brain scan on the light board mounted on the wall that showed a small outline of the implant.

"Yep." Natasha deadpanned, trying to keep all traces of annoyance out of her voice. She stared ahead, eyes covered by her black sunglasses; Gus lay curled up by her chair with a vest said said "Service Dog in Training".

Dr. Garcia glanced at Natasha in confusion before sputtering an apology, "Oh! Sorry! Oh God um," pushing her black rimmed glasses back into place, she mentally scolded herself for forgetting about Natasha's blindness, "Well the, um, the implant caused a good amount of scar tissue to develop around your frontal lobe, which is in charge of your vision." She paused to look at Natasha but was met with a blank expression, "Oh-kay," she said as she swiveled on her heel to face the scans once more, "The implant itself is in a very tricky spot. It was certainly a risky procedure to put it in there in the first place and I don't know how your enhancers would react to filling the void once it's gone."

"So what your telling me is that I have an unpleasant implant in my brain."

Dr. Garcia nodded then replied, "Yeah." Upon seeing Natasha give her an annoyed look she continued, "But that doesn't mean it can't be fixed. Let me buzz these over to the research wing. They can develop something specifically for you. I mean, they made specialized hearing aids for an agent who was told he'd never hear again and superb prosthetics for an agent who lost both legs. It's what we do, Agent Romanoff."

"I'm not an agent anymore," she replied. Tugging on Gus's leash, Natasha began to exit, "Do what pleases you, Dr. Garcia."

Natasha and Gus walked briskly through the halls of the medical wing. She felt somewhat glad that she couldn't see because she was sure that if she could, she'd see the annoyingly pitiful and curious stares she was receiving from passing agents. She felt their eyes on her as Gus guided her towards an exit. Rounding a corner, Natasha collided with another person and groaned internally as she recognized the scent of a feminine meadow. Gus barked from beside her.

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry I didn't see you." Said Bobbi as she gathered up some fallen papers.

"Same here." Natasha mentally praised herself for the ease in which she could crack the blind jokes. It was always fun because people didn't know how to react.

"Um, right, sorry." She stood in front of Natasha, unsure of what she was waiting for.

"Is the coast clear? We have somewhere we need to be." Gus stared up at Natasha in agreement.

"Right, yeah." Said Bobbi, stepping aside to let the pair walk though, "Hey, Natasha," Bobbi hesitated, "We should talk, over coffee."

Pondering the offer Natasha replied, "Where?"

"Tiger Lily's, around 5?"

Nodding, Natasha kept waking, "See you around 5, metaphorically." She added.

Natasha and Gus walked out of the hospital wing and into an awaiting taxicab that SHIELD so _kindly_ called for her. It was just their way of keeping an eye on her, "Hey, no, no! _No_ furry animals in my taxi, okay?" Urged the cab driver. His East Indian accent leaked into his words.

"He's my seeing eye dog, deal with it; and I just bathed him yesterday. Are you gonna leave a poor helpless blind woman alone on the street?" Natasha challenged, feigning hurt.

"Not even the most scrawny pencil pusher is helpless when it comes to this organization." He said pointing to the building, although it went unnoticed. He looked her over from the drivers seat, noting the dog's shiny clean coat.

"Are you gonna drive or what?" She asked impatiently.

Scowling, the man removed the parking break, "Where to, _Miss_?"

Thirty minutes later, the cabbie pulled over and dropped the pair off, muttering to himself to charge the ungrateful customers a little extra.

They arrived at a small building that trained assistance and therapy dogs. The head trainer was reluctant to accept Gus, who was nearly a year old, insisting that most dogs began training at about eight weeks. After a convincing phone call from Director Fury and a kind payment, Gus was finally welcomed in and given an honorary vest. An hour of training later, they were back in a taxi and headed to her apartment.

Before she'd escaped, she hadn't experienced long periods of time without her sight. It was always only three or four days before they'd stuff her back in cryo, but now, Natasha had no choice but to put up with herself. Her enhancers helped a lot, at first, but it seemed those were slowly depreciating. Dr. Garcia said that the permeant blood mutation would eventually get rid of them all together, but it would be a slow process that would take only a few years. Back in Sweden, she'd been able to detect the color of wires simply by touching them. Now, she was growing frustrated with her inability to find the keyhole to her apartment. Cursing, she stabbed the key at the lock and slammed her fist against the wooden surface.

A faint click to the right of her down the hall caught her attention, "Need some help?" Called a small voice. Natasha nodded in defeat. The child, which she guessed was about seven years old based on his height, took the key from her hand and opened the apartment door. Natasha swallowed and uttered a small thank you.

"If you need help again, my name is Alex." He said proudly.

"Okay, Alex. My name is Natasha." She offered, "Where are your parents?"

"My dad is working and," he paused, "I don't have a mom." He said sadly.

Natasha frowned and kneeled down in front of him, "I'm sorry, Alex." She meant it. She was only two years younger than him when she herself was orphaned.

"She had red hair, too, at least that what my dad says." Alex chuckled when Gus licked his face, "What's his name?"

"This is Gus," replied Natasha, getting to her feet, "He's helping me see."

"What happened to you?" Alex asked curiously.

She hesitated, choosing her words carefully, "Nothing you should worry about." She answered with a smile.

"Well I hope Gus does a good job of helping you out." She couldn't see it but she could hear the smile in his words. Returning the expression, she walked into her apartment once he went back into his.

Although her touch was fading, Natasha's hearing was still impeccable. The sound of Gus's claws against the wood flooring helped her avoid the hard edge of the coffee table. Tossing her coat onto the table and removing her sunglasses, she flopped onto the couch and let out a tired sigh. She placed her right hand on her left wrist and felt around for her watch that she'd broken through to feel the time since glancing at it wouldn't do her any good. Her fingers traced the placemat of the watch hands that indicated the time. It was 4 o'clock. An hour before she said she'd meet Bobbi.

Bobbi who had married Clint. Bobbi who had replaced her. Bobbi who could _see_.

It was envy over anger that Natasha felt. The anger was more directed at Clint above everyone else. She remembered the stab of hurt she felt through her heart when Drakov had sent her the wedding picture. Clint was in a silver vest and white button up shirt, hair clean and cut, standing next to Bobbi in all of her blonde haired glory. The dress was perfection, the lighting was radiant, and they smiled from ear to ear. In that moment she felt like she'd done the world a favor in disappearing. It made her wonder if Clint would've married Bobbi regardless of her disappearance, if this was all meant to happen anyways, or if her absence catalyzed the events, made it _easier_ for them. It was like the world was telling her that she was an obstacle to happiness, a barrier that stood in the way.

What really pushed her over the edge was a photo Drakov had somehow gotten, of their honeymoon. It was a black and white image of their bedroom. Bobbi straddled Clint's hips as he looked up at her in awe; their bodies, thank _God_, were obscured by the white bedsheets. Natasha hadn't been able to stop the bile that rose to her throat when she saw it, closing her eyes to will the image away.

Regardless, she still itched to see him, to _see_ them. Natasha wanted to see the changes in their faces, how much they had grown in the last five years, how deep their smile lines had gotten. Her own features, she knew, had grown tired and apathetic. The last time she looked at herself, she was spooked. The figure on the reflection had dead eyes and a defeated expression, not the confidence and tenacity of the agent that once looked back at her a long time ago.

_'This is what caring for people does to you, Natasha,' _she thought to herself, _'You end up blind and alone with a dog and no sense of direction.' _

Natasha felt Gus's wet nose under her hand as he tried to give her a tennis ball that the people at the dog training studio had gifted him. She threw it and heard his claws scratch at the floor and his dog tag rattle as he ran after it. How long this went on, she didn't know. Gus had the energy of a thousand energizer bunnies.

"Gus? Phone, please." She said from her spot on the coach. He dropped the green tennis ball, now covered in slobber, and went to the nightstand in her bedroom to pick up the telephone. Emerging seconds later, he wagged his tail as he handed it to Natasha, "Good boy, Gus." His tail wagged harder when she gave him a treat, "And they said you were too old to learn. Idiots." Patting his back, she sat up and dialed for a taxi, making sure to ask for one that was pet friendly.

The friendly driver gave Gus yet another treat when the dog ushered Natasha's hand to the handle to open it. He was undoubtedly amazed by the ease by which dogs learned. Some twenty minutes later they arrived at Tiger Lily Cafe. Thanking the driver, Natasha made her way to the cafe. She jokingly instructed Gus to find "Blondie".

"Natasha," Bobbi called from a distance. Gus guided her to one of the outside tables and into a chair before curling up at her feet. A waitress came by to take their orders, smiling at the Shepherd mix..

An awkward silence filled the space between them, although Bobbi was the first to break it, "Natasha, I," she paused, choosing her words, "I don't want this to be awkward."

"What would make this awkward?" Natasha asked sarcastically, knowing full well what would.

Bobbi's face grew serious, "Natasha, Clint, he told me, about the two of you, before you went missing."

Natasha chuckled in disbelief, "If this is some sort of warning telling me to stay away from him, I assure you, it's unnecessary. He and I were never more than partners." She removed her sunglasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. She hated wearing those things. The glasses usually caused slight perspiration in that area and it was annoying, but she knew what her eyes looked like and the glasses were better than having to deflect questions. She kept her gaze low as to not allow Bobbi a glance at her scarred and strangely colored eyes.

"No it's not that," Bobbi shook her head, "What I'm saying is that, I know he had some serious feelings for you, and feelings like that don't go away, not even years later."

"This sounds like a conversation you should be having with your _husband._" The last word hung in the air between them. Natasha put on her glasses again as the waitress returned with their order.

"I did and we're both confused. There are questions he has and he wants to talk to you."

"So this," Natasha gestured between them, "is this you speaking on his behalf? Advocating for him so that we can make up and you guys can feel more comfortable?" She paused to take a sip of her tea. Letting out a heated breath as the warm liquid quenched her light thirst, she continued, "My debriefing before the Council is tomorrow. You two are welcome to come and watch them interrogate me."

Bobbi nodded, "Okay, I'll let him know."

"You do that." Natasha said as she got up, "The quality of tea here has certainly gone to hell since my last visit." She took out some money from her pocket, "The cabbie told me this was a five dollar bill." she said, holding it up for Bobbi to see before putting it on the table, "I hope he was telling the truth." Tugging on Gus's leash, she began to walk off, "Come one, boy, lets go spend our money some place else."

Bobbi stared at Natasha as she walked off. She couldn't help but be amused at the sight of the red head being tugged along by the curious looking dog in a blue and white vest. It was as if Natasha hadn't just escaped from the control of an enemy organization some two weeks ago. Bobbi couldn't decide whether to admire or feel sorry for Natasha. While getting back on your feet after a trauma was a good thing, ignoring the elephant in the room and putting off confrontations was definitely _not_ the way to go. Sighing, Bobbi sipped the last of her coffee, giving Natasha's comment about the declining quality of the cafe a second thought before getting up and walking home.

* * *

**And now for the Council! They're never fun. Let me know what you think of the characters. For you Hawkeye lovers, worry not, we'll invade his headspace in no time. **

**As always, review!**


	6. Hunger

**Disclaimer in chapter 1**

**Again, a slightly shorter chapter, I know, but there's a surprise at the end! **

**Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed/followed! I know I haven't given the usual list of reviewers like I used to but trying to do that on my phone has proved difficult. I'll do it for the next chapter, I promise! **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_**SHIELD Headquarters, Washington DC, the next day**_

"I'm sorry, but he has to stay out here." Insisted a guard.

Natasha gave him an annoyed look, "Are you kidding me? What, are you afraid he'll pee on one of the Council's expensive monitors or something? Cause a circuit to short out? Aid in my escape?" The guard, who Natasha guessed was fresh out of the Academy by the way he insisted on following the rules, frowned at her, clearly unamused by her sarcasm.

"Listen, I'm just here to follow orders—"

"Obviously…" Natasha muttered under her breath, quirking an eyebrow and pretending to fixate her attention on anything but him.

"—and my orders are that you go in _alone_." He spoke slowly and with ennunciation.

"I'm blind, not deaf so stop talking to me like that." Natasha snapped, furrowing her brow as her annoyance quickly turned into down right frustration.

"Hey," called Coulson's familiar voice from a distance behind the guard, "Don't be such a hard ass, Luke, I'll take 'em both." Agent Luke scowled as he stepped aside and let Natasha and Gus walk through. She gave him a victorious smile before following behind Coulson's lead.

"Glad to see you're getting along with all of the agents as usual." Coulson remarked.

"He started it." She replied defensively.

"I'm sure." Stopping in front of a secured room, Coulson scanned his hand print and retina, "Right this way." The moment they stepped inside, Natasha could immediately tell the room was large and virtually empty. Their steps echoed against the hard floor in comparison to the dull thudding out in the hall. The door slid and clicked behind them, indicating a firm seal.

She detected a medium sized table and chair in front of her as Coulson slid out the chair for her to sit on. Familiarity bathed her senses as she recalled being in this same room only ten years earlier. She knew that in front of her were five separate screens, one for each Council member. The only difference was that this time she wasn't cuffed to the chair, but it sure felt like it.

"They'll be online shortly. Fury's gonna sit in, too." He began the usual set up of a heart monitor on her fore finger and the usual strap across her chest for the lie detector, although it was virtually useless, but still protocol. Everyone followed protocol when the Council was watching, except for Fury. That's why she and him got along so well.

"Wonderful. It's going to be a swell party in here." Natasha deadpanned. She realized that she'd become more and more sarcastic since her return. Maybe it was because people just seemed to provide more opportunities for her; or maybe the tech in her brain made her less tolerant towards other people's stupidity. She didn't really care.

"Hey, this is serious." Coulson reminded her.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." She gave him a slight eye roll before she turned back to him, "You'll be watching?"

"From the next room. Your extras are still on their way." He referred to Clint and Bobbi.

"Who told you about that?" She asked, wondering which one of the two opened their damn mouth.

"You did." he smirked. Natasha threw her head back and smacked her lips.

"Damn."

"If it makes you feel any better, I kind of already knew Bobbi would try to talk to you."

"Well, that makes one of us." She said, as she fidgeted with the device on her forefinger.

"The glasses need to come off. You know how anal they are about these things." He said apologetically.

Complying, she placed them on the table, "They're annoying to wear anyways."

The monitors in front of her flickered to life, "That's my cue to leave." He turned on his heel and nodded in acknowledgement as Fury walked in.

"Good morning, Director," greeted Councilmen Rockwell, "Miss Romanoff."

"Sir." She replied evenly.

"Shall we get started, then?" asked Councilwoman Hawley, putting on her glasses and flipping open a folder.

Natasha swallowed intently and started from the beginning.

* * *

Drakov wasted no time in getting to work after she woke up from her month long coma. The weeks following were filled with extensive testing. He evaluated her balance, coordination, reaction time, and her vestibular sense. Her other four senses were also tested as to confirm no damage was done to her thalamus. He determined that the blue chemical had messed with the liquid in the semicircular canals, since for the first few days, Natasha threw up around the clock. Her balance and sense of direction was extremely off; any movement made her dizzy and her head feel like it weighed a ton. Nausea plagued every waking moment until Drakov figured out how to fix it.

After passing the initial evaluations, the real "fun" began. The testing of the brain chip. For it to work, Natasha was given large amounts of the mysterious blue liquid for the first few months. A painful process, it allowed the brain chip to cement itself into her anatomy. She could barely remember the first few times they activated it because she usually passed out from the pain as soon as it turned on. Once her body got used to its presence, the brain chip stopped acting up so much.

Drakov stated that her vision was mostly green because that was the color the human eye saw the most shades of, thus allowing her superior vision. She would later learn of the built in leash that would tear through her head if she ever crossed him.

The cryo was a type of familiar she'd hoped she'd never feel again after the demise of the Red Room. The first time they tried to put her under, the guards had to beat her into submission.

"You still haven't told us _why _you followed through with their orders. You said the device itself didn't actually control you." Said the Councilwoman.

"No ma'am, it didn't." Natasha paused, "they didn't need the chip to control me, all they needed was my partner at the time."

From the next room, Clint, Bobbi, and Coulson all watched from a live security feed of the council meeting room. Clint glanced at Bobbi, showing her he was just as surprised as she was.

"How do you mean?" Asked Councilmen Yen.

"A few months before the mission in Kiev, Agent Clint Barton was injured when he foolishly took a bullet for me." She knew he'd be listening in the other room and didn't hesitate to remind him of his impulsive actions on that day, "He was severely injured and still sore when we headed out. Drakov told me he had found Clint on a rooftop twenty meters from the explosion in Kiev and injected him with a sedative laced with deadly nanites." She paused and fidgeted in her seat, "He threatened to activate them if I failed to comply with his orders." A wave of shame swelled in her stomach at the admission of her weakness. "He knew I had no way of confirming or denying his claims and that I wasn't willing to gamble with Agent Barton's life."

"So you instead chose to kill eighteen SHIELD assets and disrupt one of our most high priority projects?" Asked Rockwell rhetorically. Natasha hung her head in defeat.

"Let me add in this moment that Agent Romanoff has shown clear remorse for her actions and is in no way trying to excuse her actions, simply explain them." Fury defended.

"I began planning my escape the moment I was captured, but being in cryo and under constant supervision made it difficult to work." Her voice regained its professional tone, "I made an improvised EMP device that knocked out the guards at the facility in Sweden. They all had prototypes of the same brain chip in their heads as I did, only their entire system, not a single sense, was activated with the flip of a switch. After that, I copied as many of Hydra's files onto thumb drives before blowing up the room."

"And what of Marcus Drakov?" Asked Yen.

"Dead. He was the only one who could activate the nanites in Agent Barton. I made sure to destroy his program after I killed him. The nanites are virtually harmless now, with no trigger in existence any more."

Jotting down notes, they continued with their inquiries about how she managed to establish contact and ensure Clint would get her message. They asked questions down to the nitty gritty details like what they fed her or what the facility smelled like. They even asked her to rate the comfort level of her prison cot, to which Natasha couldn't hold back sarcastic comment that angered Rockwell.

"Why did you attack Agent Morse in Sweden after she'd announced herself to you? I know you two had interacted before you what missing." Said one of the council members. Natasha stopped trying to keep track of who asked which questions after the ridiculous bed inquiry.

"Well, sir, as you can imagine, being in a world of darkness makes it hard for me to trust what people say when I can't confirm it." Clint watched her lie through her teeth from the other room. To be honest, it wasn't a complete lie, but is want the whole truth either. It didn't matter because the lie detector picked up no changes.

Sighing, the council woman took off her reading glasses and placed both of hands over her now closed folder interlacing her fingers, "Miss Romanoff, I have to say that your actions to preserve Agent Barton's life were on the extreme side of the spectrum, don't you think? If I didn't know any better, I'd say there was more to it than a simple professional partnership. But I know both of you were aware of the restrictions between SHIELD agents and foreign SHIELD assets."

Natasha's eyes flickered, momentarily caught off guard, but she quickly composed herself, "Well, councilwoman, I couldn't exactly let the man who spared my life die because of my own selfish cowardice now could I?" She asked rhetorically, "I pay back my debts, ma'am, regardless of their price." Clint again saw through her half truth.

"Well it was a hefty price to pay, I'll tell you that." One of them replied.

"Depends on how much value you place on things, sir." Natasha mentally told herself to get a grip; comments like those were the _last_ things she needed scurrying uncontrollably out of her mouth.

"Lives are priceless, Romanoff." He reminded.

Thinking back to the eighteen SHIELD assets, Natasha bit her tongue and remained silent.

Slamming his folder shut, the councilmen spoke, "This debriefing is now over. The Council will return with a decision in a few hours." And with that, the monitors clicked off and Coulson let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as he watched Fury and Natasha from the other room.

"Well that went better than expected," said Fury as he walked up from behind her, "You managed to only piss them off twice."

"That's a whole new record." She replied, removing the heart monitor and lie detector strap from her person. "I should take him out for a potty break," Natasha commented as Gus fidgeted on his short leash.

"If he doesn't make it outside, you're cleaning up the mess." Fury warned lightly.

Natasha got up and was tugged forward by Gus's small bladder.

Once they reached SHIELD's indoor facility, she let him off his leash to go about his business and took a seat on one of the benches by the wall. She curled her fingers into the fenced hard-plastic pattern and waited for Gus's return.

Calm footsteps made their way towards her as they rounded her and took a seat to her right on the same bench. She didn't need him to talk to know who he was, "You've turned into a terrible liar, Natasha." Declared Clint as he leaned back against the wall and watched Gus roll around in the grass.

"What are you talking about? I'm an excellent liar." She answered simply.

"Why'd you really do it, follow through with Drakov's orders?" He asked. He knew the answer deep within himself, but he needed to hear her say it.

"Don't ask stupid questions, Barton. You know exactly why." And that was as close to an admission as he was going to get.

"Do you still feel the same way?" He sat forward and shifted his torso toward her. She turned her head away from him when she couldn't stand his gaze on her eyes. She'd left her glasses back in the council meeting room, leaving herself completely exposed. Even though her eyes were no longer that venomous red, at least according to the Good Doctor, they were green, now sporting a light cloudy tint over them. She imagined she looked pretty freakish.

"No." Natasha answered firmly after a moments thought, staring straight ahead and refusing to turn towards him.

"Like I said, you've become a terrible liar." Leaning back again, he mimicked her and stared blankly in front of him.

"Say what you will, Barton, but you're seemingly happily married and the last thing I'm gonna do is get in the way of that." She paused and bowed her head, "I've done enough damage to last a thousand lifetimes."

Without hesitation, Clint leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. Stunned, Natasha's breathing hitched and she froze at the intimacy of it. Save for a hug she got from Alex that morning on her way out, it was the closest gentle human contact she'd had in almost five years.

When she didn't run away or violently retaliate, Clint placed another kiss on her face, his lips landing on the corner of her mouth that was slightly parted in shock.

Then Natasha lost all sense of rationality. Her head was a flurry of emotions too loud for her to think clearly. She _ached_ for the close contact, to touch another person and feel slightly more _human_. So that's what she blamed her actions on when she turned her head towards him and captured his lips with her own. She tasted like the salted peanuts in the lobby as he kissed her, slowly and gently, relishing in the warmth of her full red lips. She ran her tongue along his bottom lip and he opened his mouth to grant her entrance.

Natasha reached up to touch his face, allowing her fingers to trace every groove, curve, and wrinkle of his now thirty-three year old face. Pulling back for breath, they rested their foreheads against each other, eyes closed as if not wanting to wake up from what was quite possible a torturously desired dream.

It was Gus's light panting and wagging tail against her leg that finally snapped Natasha out of her intimate stooper. Her eyes blasted open with realization of her actions, "I've gotta go." She quickly announced as she jumped up and let Gus guide her into the building, leaving Clint confused and still dazed. His hand came up to his face and lingered over the spot where her fingers had gently caressed his features.

Inside, Natasha held her hand around shoulder length, feeling the signs by the doors, searching for one in Braille that read "Bathroom". Finding one, she quickly pushed her way in, not caring if people saw her frenzy. Locking the door, she leaned against the wall. Her fingers reached up and lingered over her moist lips.

Having let go of Gus's leash, she could hear his faint sniffing in front of her, followed by a tiny trickle of liquid marking his territory inside of the women's bathroom.

She stared off into space, eyes unseeing with lingering shock, for what felt like ages. A click from the speaker in the bathroom drew her back, "Natasha Romanoff, report back to council meeting room immediately." Called Coulson's professional voice from above.

Tapping into the last bit of courage she had left, Natasha got up and reported for the verdict.

* * *

**Uh-oh, Clint, what did you do...Next two chapters are full of Clint'a inner struggle! So stay tuned!**

**Also, I just realized that some of you have never heard of the huge fight for a Black Widow solo film. If you scroll through the "where is my black widow movie" tag on tumblr, you'll get a good idea of how emotional people (abd me) get. Honestly, I'd die of joy if it really happened. **

**But back to reality, I'll update maybe tomorrow or Thursday depending on the reader response. As always, feedback is appreciated :)**


	7. Breathe

**Disclaimer in chapter 1**

**Thsnk to isikiddo, person d, MoonIce20408, Rennier, beverlie4055, Bia Moraes and JWolf28 for reviewing! Also, sailorraven34 and carolzocas for being my constant reviewers! It really means a lot when reviews are more than "update soon", so thanks :)  
**

**I'm not gonna spoil anything for you guys so...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Natasha briskly walked into the conference room, head high and shoulders squared.

"Nice of you to join us, Miss Romanoff," commented the head councilmen.

"Sorry, sir, I had a hard time finding my way back." She took her seat behind the table, "Shall we proceed?"

Clearing his throat, the head Councilmen opened up the folder in front of him, "Your status as a deniable asset means that we can't punish you since you technically don't work for us."

"We found that the two thumb drives you brought in are a gold mine of intelligence we can use against Hydra and known associates." Offered the councilwoman, "However, we need someone with knowledge of their inner workings to help analyze it."

"You mean SHIELD _doesn't_ have any informants or moles inside of Hydra?" Asked Natasha in disbelief. Surely the world's most global and advanced intelligence agency had _someone_ spying on Hydra.

She took their silence as a no.

"We've never been able to send in any agents to gather decent intel. I mean we have, but they've never returned alive." The councilmen clarified.

"Which is why you guys are gonna reach within the kindness of your hearts and _not _ send assassins after me when I leave here today, right?" Again her sarcasm was met with silence.

"Agent Romanoff—"

"Oh I'm _Agent_ Romanoff now? Great." She could feel Fury's warning gaze boring holes into the back of her head.

"We require your assistance in breaking down the data. If this could lead to the destruction of a nefarious organization that predates SHIELD, your knowledge would be instrumental to the process." It was Yen who spoke that time. Natasha simply clenched her jaw and shook her head in disbelief.

"You will work closely with our top Strike Team and intelligence officers to coordinate an attack. Upon completion of your work, SHIELD will offer pardon and protection."

Natasha let out a dry and empty laugh, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair, "Let's face it, Agent, you are vulnerable to your enemies in your condition, and from what we know, there are a lot of people that want you dead." Said the councilwoman.

"This is your only chance to repent, Miss Romanoff." Said the head councilmen, "You can take it and walk out of here alive, or you can watch over your shoulder until someone catches you off guard." He didn't sugar coat it. He told her the facts and what consequences her decision would have. The councilmen appealed to her traditional Russian upbringing that taught her that a person was forgiven through their actions, not their words.

"I'd like to see what's behind door number three." Her humor went unappreciated.

"These are your options, Romanoff." they silently waited for what they thought would be a quick decision on her part, but then again, no one really knew Natasha Romanoff to be predictable.

In all honesty, Natasha's first impulse was to agree; however, the tiny voice in the back of her head told her otherwise. She had to ask herself if she was willing to keep going, _'I mean how bad can dying be, really?' _she asked herself. Her skills outside of espionage could be counted on one hand. Her previous work had amounted into a more than adequate money supply that would allow her to live comfortably for the rest of her life, but she was the type of person who couldn't sit still. Then there was the question of her invalidity. Matt being the only exception, a handicap in her line of work made for an extra short lifespan. She decided she wasn't going to give SHIELD the satisfaction of taking her out or leading her enemies straight to her. Giving in, Natasha spoke, "Who would I be working with?" Her words were sharp and controlled.

"Agents Barton and Morse, along with top secret intelligence team whose names you will find out upon signing your agreement." Said the head councilmen.

She heard a faint flicker telling her a file had popped up on the screen of the table, "You know I can't read anymore, right?" It was strange but Natasha was surprised when the words left her mouth, realizing she'd never read anything ever again, at least not like she used to. A pang of hurt flashed through her chest before she quickly pushed any further thoughts away.

"It's an update on your security clearance to level 9." Said Yen.

"You expect me to trust that?"

"They're telling the truth," said Fury as he walked up behind her and leaned over her shoulder, "for once." He uttered just loud enough for her to hear. She and Fury always had a strange relationship. Rocky at first, they collided; he had endlessly referred to her as "Barton's stray" for the first few years; but they grew to understand each other, the hard decisions they made, and the lies they often had to tell. He was the first person she came to trust, right in front of Coulson and Barton.

Natasha heard him tap away on the table and straighten himself behind her, giving her space, "You can scan you hand print right in front of you." He said.

No one was holding a gun to her head or a knife to her throat, but their quiet stares of anticipation were sharp enough to feel like it. Sighing in acceptance, Natasha placed her hand flat on the table as it scanned her print. A small sound confirmed it. She couldn't help but feel like she was signing her life away, "Is that all?"

"You'll get two days to get your affairs in order and we'll begin work on Wednesday." Instructed Fury.

She gave a curt nod and proceeded to stand.

"The meeting is now over. I expect results, Agent Romanoff." Head councilmen Rockwell said before the screens went black and she was left alone with Fury.

He tapped some controls on the table screen as he shut off the security and audio feeds in the room, "Natasha, I mean it." His voice was serious, "Get your affairs in order with Agent Barton. If it means anything, had Hill, Coulson, and I not intervened, he might've still been looking for your sorry ass."

"He's married." She stated.

Fury sighed, "Like I said, get your affairs in order." Walking out of the conference room, he left Natasha to think things over.

Gus whined from beside her. She looked down at him and felt for her glasses on the table, "Seriously? Gus, your bladder is way too small." The pair walked out of the conference wing and out if SHIELD.

She didn't come across Coulson, Bobbi, or Clint, much to her surprise and relief.

In truth, Fury was right. Working with them meant being professionals. She needed to talk to Clint.

"God, I hate confrontation." She uttered as she and Gus walked home.

* * *

Immediately after leaving the conference room, Fury went to see Coulson and the others in observation. The three agents were talking amongst themselves when he walked in, "—I'm just saying, Clint." Argued Bobbi. It seemed that's all they'd been doing lately.

"I know that, but could you quit being so paranoid? She's not a bad person, jeez Bobbi." Clint's voice was laced with irritation.

Fury glanced at Coulson, who was leaned back on one of the swivel chairs with an impassive look on his face. He shrugged at Fury's confused expression.

"Why hello to you too, Agents." He interrupted. The pair looked at him in surprise, apparently too caught up in their argument to notice when he walked in.

Bobbi composed herself and nodded in acknowledgment, "Sir," she turned to glare at Clint, "Excuse me." She dismissed herself and left the men alone.

Coulson took Fury's glance his cue to go too, "Well," he straightened his coat jacket, clearing his throat slightly, and placed a firm hand on Clint's shoulder, "gentlemen." Coulson gave them both a brief smile and exited the room.

Fury turned and looked at Clint before taking Coulson's vacated seat, letting out a tired sigh "You know, there's only one chair in that damn conference room, and that was one hell of a long debriefing."

"That was five years in a nutshell." Clint remarked.

"You think she's holding back?"

"This is Natasha we're talking about. It's like you said, old habits die hard." Clint said, reminding Fury of their meeting only a three weeks prior.

"You know, Barton, I'd be lying if I said she's the first person I've known to die and come back from the dead," he rubbed his chin, "And I've found, that talking is usually the way to go. It sounds cheesy but letting it out over lunch is better than arguing during a mission and getting distracted."

Clint's eyes flickered to Fury, recognition of his last statement resonating in his mind. That's exactly what happened in Kiev. He'd been arguing with Natasha over something stupid when he was distracted. Had he not been such an ass about his date with Bobbi, they all probably wouldn't be here right now. At this is, Clint couldn't help but wonder if Fury was referring to Natasha's disappearance or the relationship the councilwoman had implied during the debriefing. Either way, he eyed Fury, "What's that supposed to mean?" Clint demanded.

"It means that I have eyes everywhere, Agent," Fury leaned forward as his tone gained a hint of warning, "eyes that I have access to 24/7, and if you think you can get away with doing anything while at HQ, you obviously haven't been paying attention for the last twelve years."

Clint clenched his jaw, "I'm not a kid anymore, Fury. I can take care of my issues on my own."

"Well you've had a month to do so and after that performance, it doesn't seem like you're any closer to making things better." Fury stood up stepped in front of Clint, "In fact, I think you've made things a little more uncomfortable."

"This sounds like a lecture you'd normally instruct Coulson to give me."

"Well then you should take it more seriously if it's coming from me." Clint uncrossed his arms and stood tall, challenging his superior, "I don't want a repeat of Kiev. I want you all focused and attentive. How you fix the problem is none of my business, Barton, but you need to get your head out of your ass and face what's right in front of you." The two men glared at each other briefly before Fury turned to walk out of the room, "I expect you ready on Wednesday." He called over his shoulder before leaving Clint alone in the observation room. He stared intently at the static from the video feed before he too left the room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

After narrowly avoiding being hit by a careless driver thanks to Gus's intelligent disobedience, Natasha decided that trying to navigate the busy streets of central Washington DC during rush hour was not a good idea. Immediately after, she phoned a cab as to avoid any real accidents.

She'd needed the walk to help her sort out the flurry of thoughts traveling through her headspace at unimaginable speeds. There was the dreaded issue of her now even more complicated relationship with Clint, if she could call it that, and how she was going to fix it, then there was how long it would take her to complete her assignment with SHIELD, along with the question of what would happen to her after Hydra was taken down, if they ever got to that point.

Not to mention her struggle to adapt. Gus was helpful, friendly, and the only one whose assistance she didn't mind, but she hated depending on anyone to help her with things. She hated having to ask for items at the grocery store when she couldn't focus enough to feel and guess food labels. She hated having to give Gus instructions on her every move. She hated only listening to the TV. She hated everything, _period_.

Which is why she also hated having to knock on her neighbor's door to ask him a for assistance.

She knew the moment the door opened, it wasn't Alex who answered. The man in front of her smelled like drywall and saw dust under a light layer of men's cologned shampoo, "Hi," she said slightly embarrassed, clearly expecting a smaller and shorter person, "I'm Natasha, I, uh, live right down the hall."

"Oh, right. Yeah, Alex, he, uh, told me about you. Sorry I haven't introduced myself. I've been caught up working. I'm Sam, by the way." He offered. In that moment, Natasha _really_ hated her blindness, because his voice sounded _unbearably_ attractive. She hadn't given it too much thought, but her libido was certainly coming back at her full force after a five year hiatus because she was pretty sure she was acting like a teenage girl taking to the hot professor.

"Right, Sam," she gave him girlish smile, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I need a favor." She pulled out a small object from her pocket and held it out, "The guy at the tech store didn't wire this correctly and it's not working. I just need to know which colors are connected where and I'll do the rest."

She heard him shift his weight on his feet and take the object from her hand. His fingers brushed up against her palm and sent goosebumps up her arm, _'Get a grip for Christ's sake, Natasha!'_ she mentally chided herself, "A frequency jammer?" he asked, slightly amused, "It's not gonna get in the way of my cell signal, is it?" She heard him fiddle with its components, examining the details.

"It'll only jam one frequency, I assure you." Natasha replied, smiling. Knowing SHIELD, they probably already bugged her apartment. They still doubted her intentions, most likely suspecting her a double agent thanks to Bobbi Morse's paranoia, "So, the colors?" She reminded.

The sound of wires re clicking into place filled her ears, "All done." He reached down and placed the jammer in her hand, bringing it up between them, "It was just three misplaced wires. The green where the blue went and another was in the wrong spot." She tilted her head at him, implying an explanation, "I do electrical work for construction companies." Sam leaned on the doorframe.

'_That explains the sexy construction worker vibe.' _she thought. "Oh, well thanks." A smile tugged at her lips. They both just stood there in the hall, neither making a move to leave. She wondered how he was looking at her.

"So is there a Mr. Natasha?" He asked.

She laughed and looked shyly at her feet, "No, there isn't." She smiled up at him once more, "Thankfully." She added.

"Well in that case, if you haven't eaten, would you like to come in for some lunch?" Natasha weighed her options briefly. She knew she had to deal with _Barton_ and get her shit together, but she also knew she hadn't eaten since 6 AM. Reality could wait just a little bit longer.

"Sure."

She heard him move closer and place her hand on his elbow, "Well then, I welcome you to the Castle Joseph." Chuckling, she let him guide her in.

* * *

_**Barton/Morse residence, Arlington, VA**_

They were arguing, again, _'It's barely past lunch.' _Clint thought, as a frustrated Bobbi Morse pulled out a chair and sat across from him at the dinner table, "You _kissed_ her?" She asked incredulously. She crossed an arm in front of her chest, leaned on the table, and ran a hand over her hair.

Clint hung his head, more out of embarrassment than shame, and looked at his hands resting in between his legs. He, Clint Barton, man who preached fidelity and professionalism, had kissed a woman that wasn't his wife. He looked up and noticed her inner turmoil. Her eyes darted back and forth before focusing on the salt shaker, "Bobbi—"

"Do you love her?" She interrupted. Her tone was strong but her emotions still leaked through; the question fell from her mouth before she could stop it, and she now found herself both demanding and slightly afraid of what his answer might be.

Clint looked into Bobbi's warm brown eyes. It was a question he'd avoided asking himself for the past month. Did he? Did he still love the paradox wrapped in an enigma that was Natasha Romanoff?

_"Love is for children, Barton."_

Those were the words she'd said to him many years ago, tears glistening in her eyes, as he lay dying in her arms. He never believed in them.

"I don't know." He answered truthfully. An expression registered in Bobbi's features that he couldn't quite place.

She looked absentmindedly at her hands, "I should've seen this coming." she shook her head, "Somewhere in my head, I thought that if I loved you enough we'd be okay, but I knew deep down that wouldn't be enough. I knew it when you proposed, when we got married, and I know it now." biting her lip, she let out an empty chuckle, "I was a fool to marry you, a child wrapped up in some fantasy."

"No you're not, Bobbi." There was no barrier anymore, no part of what they'd been hiding to lie about, "I—we both needed someone. You mother got sick, I was told my partner was dead. We both needed someone to make things better. I was so angry, I needed something kind and wonderful to hold on to to make things easier," he reached over and was surprised when she let him take her hand in his, "and you did." His words were sincere and she knew he meant them.

"Did you ever love me, Clint?" her mouth suddenly felt dry.

This was a question he knew the answer to, "Yes, I did, Bobbi." Their wedding photo was evidence. The smiles plastered on their faces were genuine, mad with happiness and joy. It truly was one of the happiest days of his life, the day he gave himself to someone who was willing to do the same.

"But you don't now." it was more of a statement than a question.

He bit his lip and looked down at her hands, shaking his head ever so slightly. He wasn't going to lie to her anymore.

"Okay," she said looking around the kitchen, "I'm gonna give Sharon a call, stay at her place tonight."

"Bobbi, you don't have to do that." Clint held her hand a little tighter.

"Yeah, I do. Besides, if you leave, where are you gonna stay? God knows Coulson will kick you out before breakfast." She got up and headed into their bedroom to grab her things. Clint smiled behind her; her humor reassured him. When she emerged, Clint was still sitting by the table, "I'll see you Wednesday." He nodded.

With that, Bobbi exited their apartment, the door clicked shut behind her.

* * *

**Samuel L Jackson voice: About damn time! lol **

**Next chapter has some serious Clint Barton inner thoughts. Rating may go up soon so keep an eye out.**

**As always, I don't mind a good review here and there that lets me know what you think... :) **


	8. Encounters

**Disclaimer in chapter 1**

**Ah! I probably should've updated sooner. I received some concerned PMs about whether this was a Natasha/OC fic. **

**Well I guess you'll just have to read to find out then...**

* * *

Lunch with Samuel and Alexander Joseph, as Natasha had learned, went relatively well. It felt nice talking to normal people for a change and time seemed to fly doing so; however, she became really annoyed when halfway through, she started thinking about Clint and all those times they laughed together over lunch or drinks after missions. By the time the trio finally finished eating and taking, it was half past five. Sam busied himself clearing the table as Alex enthusiastically pulled Natasha away to show her his toys.

"And this one right here is my favorite," he said, placing the object in her hand.

She felt the grooves, the curves, and the hard plastic surface with her hands and smiled, "A car, right?"

"A Jeep. It's got stars painted on the sides and it's dark blue." He answered cheerfully, "I like it because it looks like a space car when I take the wheels off, but dad says I shouldn't do that 'cuz I'll lose them."

"I bet you do it anyway." She handed the car back to him as a guilty smirk tugged at his lips, turning the car over in his seven year old hands. She heard him fidget a little on his knees from their spot kneeled down on the floor next to his bed as if contemplating whether or not to ask a question, "What is it, Alex?"

He pouted his mouth nervously, "What do you think of my dad?" She knew what was coming next, but she feigned obliviousness.

"Well, he's really nice," she answered truthfully, "and he's a really good cook." She added, hoping to lighten the mood.

Alex smiled before retiring to his pensive state, "It's just that, he's not so good with girls." Taking the wheels off his toy Jeep, he continued, "The last girlfriend he had left 'cuz he didn't pay enough attention to her. She was also a bit prissy and mean so I couldn't blame him." He looked Natasha over as she silently listened to him, "But you're not prissy or mean, and I think he likes you, too. He's totally awesome once you really get to know him and he can make lots of different food." He added.

Natasha couldn't hold back the smile that she'd been trying to hide once he finished his last sentence. Here was the son of the man she just met, trying to play wingman. It was charming, really, but it saddened Natasha at the same time. The boy wanted a complete family with a mother to stand by his amazing father, and he was asking her to be a part of it, "Alex," she said gently, "I only just met your dad, and I really do think he's nice. In fact, he's one of the nicest people I've met in the last five years, both of you are." She was being honest with him; five years with Drakov made the cranky customer service people seem like angels, "But I'm still trying to get back on my feet, and I don't want to get into things too quickly, you know what I mean?"

He nodded his head before uttering a quiet response, "Yeah." Tugging at the carpeting, his gaze dropped.

Giving him a sad smile, she reached forward under his chin and tipped his head towards her, "Hey, that doesn't mean we can't be friends, Alex. Who's gonna help me when I can't find the keyhole when I get frustrated?" She felt him give a small chuckle.

"I guess I'll have to help you on that one." His voice was now devoid of any previous sadness, replaced with contentment and happiness. How she longed to be a child again.

"Hey Alex," called his dad as he approached the room, "Time for your shower, sport." Sam leaned against the door frame, a small towel resting on his shoulder.

"But it's only 5:30!" Claimed Alex.

"It's a school night and you've still gotta read." He moved aside and made way for Alex, "Go on, your stuff's already in the bathroom."

Alex turned to Natasha, who was still kneeled beside him. She gave him a curt nod, "I'll see you later, Natasha." She smiled as he got up to take a shower.

"Need a hand?" Sam offered. She took his outstretched hand and pulled herself up, miscalculating and stumbling into his broad chest.

"Sorry." She uttered with an apologetic smirk.

"It's fine. Need help getting to your apartment?" She contemplated declining his offer, but she kind of liked his company.

"Sure." She replied as she placed her hand on his arm and they walked out together.

They stopped once they reached her door although neither made a move to leave. She could sense something on Sam's mind but waited for him to announce it

"Hey, Natasha," he began. She knew what he was going to say, having used that tone on various marks and one-night stands.

"It's fine, Sam." He was surprised by her casual and unsurprised tone.

"Really?"

"Yeah," she gave him a reassuring smile, "I still need to adjust to everything that's happened to me in the last few months, and you've got an adorable handful to take care of ."

He lightened at her admission, "So I take it Alex talked to you?"

"Oh yeah," she nodded, slightly amused.

"He tries really hard." A small chuckle escaped his throat, "but the truth is, it's been five years and I still can't get her out of my mind." He scratched the back of his head absentmindedly at the memory of his deceased wife.

"I'm sorry, Sam, really. I can't imagine what that did to you, but you've done a great job. Alex is such a good kid." She took has hand and squeezed it gently. He smiled down at their hands.

"So who is he?" Sam questioned, "The person who was on your mind for the first half of lunch." He elaborated.

Natasha huffed, realizing she was losing her touch, "Just someone who I haven't seen in a while, that's all." _'What an understatement, Natasha.'_ she thought.

"I'll admit, I'm guilty too." He confessed, "I can never go through meals without thinking about her. I don't think I'll ever move on."

"And that's fine, Sam. You're a good guy and a wonderful dad; Alex is lucky to have you." she contemplated her next words briefly, "God knows I would've given the world to have had at least one of my parents with me." She startled herself at the honesty behind her words. She never talked about her dead parents, or her "childhood", for that matter. There was something about Sam that made her trust him.

He glanced at her, surprise in his eyes, before his features softened, "Thanks." He said.

She moved to unlock her door before turning to around to face him once more, "I'll see you around, Sam." She reached up and kissed his cheek lightly before retreating into her apartment.

* * *

It was stupid, really, and probably his worst idea yet, but that didn't stop him. SHIELD had eyes on everyone, and as such, had Natasha's new address on file. After calling in a favor and downing a few shots for bravery, Clint walked from his apartment in Arlington all the way to Silver Spring. Admittedly, the walk took him longer than it was supposed to when his stomach got the best of him and he stopped at a sports bar for a quick meal and another bravery drink. He walked the last two miles with a half empty beer in his hand and nearly stumbled over a firehydrant.

Clint figured he might aswell get things over with and couple all of the shittyness into one day instead of spreading it out over his two day time limit. That way, he could spend all of tomorrow moping around his apartment, beating up his punching bag, and falling asleep in random places. He figured that after a good week or so of that, he'd finally be able to focus properly.

When he finally reached her apartment building and couldn't bring himself to walk in. It was a rustic red brick building that was probably as old as Captain America, and was even complete with the gothic lamp posts. In truth, he was afraid to go in because he was afraid he might lose her all over again. He knew he could be an ass sometimes, and now was definitely _not _the time to act as such. Then again, he couldn't do _all_ of the work. Natasha was going to have to reciprocate. The least she could do was cut him some slack. After all, he hadn't even explained his side of the story yet.

'_Which is why you need to shut up and get your ass moving, Barton.'_ he thought to himself. Oddly enough, that sounded just like something Natasha would say to him. A person exited the secured apartment building and Clint slithered inside. More like stumbled, but same difference. After getting lost twice, Clint finally found himself in front of apartment 4 F. Pushing away all of his anxieties, Clint knocked twice on the door before the a confused Russian redhead opened up.

* * *

She couldn't tell if Gus was happy to see her or annoyed that she left him alone for a little over five hours. Luckily, he hadn't urinated on any of the furniture, and as to avoid any accidents, Natasha quickly took him outside to do his business. She could hear Gus's paws crunching in the snow as he walked. December was coming to a close, but the snow was unrelenting.

She outwardly smiled at the memory of her lunch with Sam and Alex. Those two were inseparable. '_All the more reason for you to stay away'_, she thought grimly. If any of her enemies were to find out she was alive, they'd find out about her friendship with her new neighbors if she wasn't careful. What they'd do from there she didn't want to know.

Unpleasant thoughts aside, the cold winter air felt calming against her exposed face. For a moment, she felt a little less overwhelmed. Then, of course, Gus interrupted her by nudging her hand for her to leash him. Back in her warm apartment, Natasha estimated it to be around seven, and as tired as she was, decided to shower and get ready for bed. Just as she had finished getting dressed, she heard a knock on her door. She froze, uncertain of who might be waiting on the other side. Cursing her disability, she called Gus over to fetch her phone. She quickly dialed an emergency SHIELD number and held her finger over the call button. There was a second knock and she walked towards the door. Pressing call, she opened the door, ready for her assailant.

Her nostrils were met with the unpleasant smell of alcohol and bow oil, '_Clint.'_ she thought. Relieved and slightly annoyed by his surprise visit, Natasha discretely pressed the end call button on her phone and hid it behind her back. Clint must've really been out of it because he didn't comment on her reaction.

"Hey." He greeted simply from his spot leaned up against her door frame.

She gave him an unamused look, "Clint." her voice was flat and slightly irritated.

"Can I come in?" He looked into her cloudy green eyes, her glasses, he could see, were long forgotten on the coffee table behind her.

She stepped aside and he pushed himself off the door frame. The first thing he noticed, as she shut the door, was how dark it was. The light snow falling from the sky meant that the clouds obscured the moonlight. Save for the light from a lamp on a table by the wall and the built in light fixture on the ceiling fan, there was nothing to provide light into her apartment. He remembered when he first saw her apartment back when they were partners: her place had always been adequately lit, her sense of paranoia never leaving her. Now, he guessed, none of that mattered. Clint felt a furry presence by his knees and looked down to see a curious German Shepherd sniffing his pants and shoes.

Sitting on the couch, he glanced over at Natasha, who carefully walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of water from the dispenser on the fridge. She kept her fingertips on the edges of the counter tops, walls, or furniture to reassure herself of where she was going. Placing it on the coffee table, she nudged it forward and leaned back into the matching chair.

"Thanks," he uttered, taking a sip. Clint now forgotten, Gus curled up over the mat in front of Natasha's door, "Mind if I turn on a lamp?" he asked awkwardly.

"Not at all." She hadn't given the lighting in her apartment much thought, but she figured it was dark most of the time. Not that light would make any difference to her impairment; she considered she should probably turn on a dim lamp from now on, for Gus's sake.

A strange silence fell between them. Natasha could feel Clint's eyes on her. Her hand itched to reach over and grab her glasses from the table but she decided against it, "You're drunk." She stated bluntly.

"Only in the slightest," he said, taking another sip of water.

"Then we should talk when you're sober."

"You know me, Nat—asha." He corrected at the last second. His slip didn't go by unnoticed, "I'm more honest this way."

"Fine." She said crossing her arms over her chest.

Letting out a sigh, he willed himself to speak, "I think Bobbi and I are getting divorced." The irritated look on her face was quickly replaced with surprise. Clearly too stunned to ask, he simply told her, "I told her, about us, at HQ after you were debriefed." He sat forward and held his cup of water in his hands between his knees, "about how I kissed you." The water sparkled in the dim apartment lighting, "We'd been fighting a lot, arguing, even before we got news of you." Sipping his water, he waited for her reaction.

"I—Clint," she shook her head, not knowing what to say.

"I'm just telling you." He said, "We're gonna be working together, and I thought my teammate should know what's bothering me."

Natasha couldn't bring herself to be angry at him anymore. She might've felt a sense of betrayal and hurt whenever she saw them together, but she truly never wished them any misfortune. Clint had seemed happy, _they_ had seemed happy, Bobbi and him. She imagined if she could see him now, his hair would be ruffled and his face prickly from lack of shaving. He sounded defeated and slightly more empty.

"I'm sorry, Clint." Was all she could really say.

He shook his head lightly, "It's not your fault, Nat," he reverted to her nickname out of habit and didn't try to stop himself this time, "it's mine. It's my fault for thinking I could marry a woman I wasn't sure I loved and try to live happily." The words felt like stones in his heart, but their weight fluttered away as they fell from his mouth. Who knew simply _saying_ something aloud could bring such relief? He certainly didn't, "Maybe I can't be a child, no matter how hard I try."

The memory of her words to him came back to her. She'd told him love was for children as she held his bleeding body in her arms. His response?

_"Then let's be children, Nat." _

Then he passed out. Then he woke up, and they argued, and bickered, and she was kidnapped, experimented on, and then she found her way home.

With a dog. Named Gus. Who was actually kind of adorable. _'Maybe I'm more wasted than I thought.'_ Clint considered, as his mind started derailing and wandering.

"Clint, you're the biggest child I know." She said, "You had it in you to bring me in when everyone else wanted me dead. If that's not child enough, then I don't know what is."

He lightly chuckled and looked down at his wet shoes. The snow had melted off and there were now droplets of water on Natasha's dark wood floor, "I don't regret it." He stated, looking up at her, "Kissing you, I mean."

Natasha sat idly across from him, taking in his words, contemplating her answer, "I didn't either." She said honestly.

He let out a small sigh and nodded his head, "Okay." He saw the faintest grin tug at the corner of her mouth. It was barely visible under the dim light of the room, "It's a three hour walk from here to Arlington and it's like, almost eight." He stated as he slowly let himself lay down on her soft blue couch. He never really liked wicker furniture, but damn was this thing comfortable.

She reached over and grabbed his empty cup with accuracy and proceeded to walk into the kitchen, "You can have the couch you smelly drunk." She said over her shoulder.

One thing that didn't change, he noticed as she walked, was the way she carried herself. Her walk was the same confident, and slightly provocative, saunter it used to be, hips naturally swaying from side to side. Her legs as toned and deadly as ever, especially in those shorts she was wearing, which he found odd since it was still winter and snowing outside.

Clint dozed off for a little bit, the sounds of her shuffling her mismatched sock covered feet around the apartment lulled him to sleep. A light rift of air stirred him as he realized she'd gently tossed a blanket over him. He barely registered the feeling of her lips on his crown, kissing him goodnight, before he completely dozed off into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

**As always, thanks for all the support. CC, worry not, I loved your long review :) **

**Heads up: The story will go up to M when I post chapter 11. **


	9. The Snake

**Disclaimer in chapter 1**

**Thanks to carolzocas, JWolf28, Guest (both of you), and beverlie4055 for your reviews and a special thanks to JoMiSm for reviewing every single chapter! The support I'm receiving is incredible :)**

**This chapter begins with one of Natasha's dreams and as many of you know, they're not particularly pleasant. Just a light warning here but I don't think it's anything too graphic. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Natasha felt water pour into her lungs and occupy every tiny empty crevice. A hand yanked her head back by the hair and threw her to the ground in a pitiful heap. Violent coughs rattled her chest. Looking around she could see nothing but endless darkness. No depth, no distance, no time existed here. The hand that pulled her out grabbed her by the collar and forced her to look at it. The figure had dry ashy skin and sunken red eyes. It's teeth were sharp and stained with blood. The figure was ominous and large, long thin and bony limbs added to the tallness of it. Shaking her, it opened its jaws with a growl, rotting breath filled her nostrils. It let out a guttural scream that deafened her before it plunged her into the dark and endless black floor._

_She felt her eyes shut tight in fear before the faint smell of burning flesh and smoke filled her nostrils. Opening her eyes, Natasha saw the smoke filled sky above her and realized she was back in Monaco, paralyzed in fear under the rubble of what used to be a clinic. Her bones felt shattered and her muscles ached in agony. Arms outstretched, she looked to her left. Her eyes met the sight of the woman and child she'd been trying to save. The woman's face was burned pink by the flames of the explosion, lifeless arms still cradling her infant. _

_The child was what drove Natasha to the brink. _

_The infant voice screamed out in obvious pain. Its face was red with desperation. _

_Natasha could feel her heart clench as tears rolled down her face, "No, No!" Her chest was racked with sobs. She willed her body to get to the baby, to crawl her way to it if she had to, but her limbs wouldn't move. She could do nothing but watch the infant scream and scream and scream in agony at the pulsing pain of the burns. She wondered of the child knew its mother was dead. Natasha yelled in frustration at her inability to move, to help the child. She could do nothing but watch. It was like a horror movie she couldn't turn away from. _

_A figure suddenly hovered over her. She recognized his silhouette as that of her partner. He called out her name, desperately trying to get her attention, but his cries fell on deaf ears. He firmly held her jaw and turned her towards him as to tear her eyes away from the mother and child, but only her head moved, gaze glued to the horrific sight in front of her. She cried harder. _

_Clint suddenly bent forward and began placing wet kisses on her neck and face, effectively distracting her. Her brow furrowed in confusion and her hands moved to push him away. _

Natasha gasped and jolted up on her bed, sweat collecting on her brow. She felt her eyes snap open but she couldn't see a thing. Panicking, she began to furiously rub her eyes but her vision wouldn't return. Then, she felt a the familiar wet kisses on her face. Feeling around, she discovered it was a large furry dog licking her sweaty features. Her breathing began to settle as her memories slowly came back to her. Gus rubbed his head against her chest before flopping onto his back over her legs, demanding a belly rub. Complying, Natasha absentmindedly began to scratch the canine's stomach. This wasn't the first time he'd woken her up from a fitful sleep. The people at the service dog training center also trained therapy dogs for PTSD; she snuck Gus into the classes from time to time when his regular training ended. For that, she was grateful.

Surprisingly, that was the first nightmare she'd had in a week coming close to, but not beating, her personal best of two weeks.

The nightmare was of a mission in Monaco she and Clint went on years ago. Except, in reality, Clint had arrived at the still burning wreckage just as she was inches from reaching the infant before he dragged her away, broken leg and all. She'd yelled and protested, but he had insisted that if they didn't leave in that moment, they were going to die from the secondary explosion. True to his word, the moment they limped past crumbled doorframe, another explosion thrust them forward. She blacked out and woke up three weeks later, hating the world even more than she did before.

If there was one thing that disturbed Natasha above everything else, it was crimes against children, crimes against the innocent who could do nothing but stand there as the men and women in control toyed with them as they pleased. Natasha knew first hand what such power could engender. She'd been a child soldier essentially, a spy, an agent beaten into submission, brainwashed and tortured. They taught her loyalty and consequences of failure. She'd been a child, ripped from the seams of her perfect world and molded into the emotionless killer she tried everyday to suppress. They'd made her into the Black Widow and purged Natasha Romanova into the deepest and most unreachable corner of her psyche.

She'd been lost until she was found, by none other than the lump of muffled snoring coming from the living room.

Feeling for her watch to gage the exact time, Natasha found that it was only 6:50 AM. Content that she managed to sleep in, and deciding she wasn't going to get anymore rest, she quietly got up to get dressed. She was about to leave to get some juice and eggs from the store when she realized she had to let Clint know she'd only stepped out, and _not_ run away. She scribbled a note as neatly as she could before grabbing Gus, her glasses, and a warm coat, leaving the note on the coffee table for Clint to find if he woke up.

The cool December air immediately caused her nose to freeze over. It didn't matter if she spent half of her life in Russia or central Africa, she could never get over how much she hated the cold, or any weather that was on the extreme side of the spectrum. She recalled a mission where she and Clint were sent into the Sahara desert to track an illegal drug trade route during the peak of the summer. Never had she cursed her pale Russian skin more. Clint had teased her relentlessly while her mild sunburns healed.

Gus didn't seem to mind the weather. He didn't seem to mind anything, really. She'd decided that walking to places was better for the both of them. It saved her money on cranky cab drivers, Gus got exercise, and the more they traveled on familiar paths, the less she had to direct him on their destination.

Just as they rounded the corner before the small grocery store, a familiar sense of paranoia washed over Natasha. It was the familiar sense of being watched the made her stiffen. She felt eyes on her, from a distance and up close. Two tails, recon and surveillance. Her sense became more attentive as she tried to pick up on any strange sounds or unusual odors. She became more aware of the space around her, if people were to close or if she recognized a presence.

Then, just as suddenly as she picked up on them, they were gone. _'Maybe they found out I'd made them? No, I'm too careful, I didn't let it show. Orders? Someone gave them orders to fall back.'_ her mind reeled for an explanation, but came up short.

Gus's momentary pause let Natasha know they'd reached their destination. Walking into the grocery store, she quickly grabbed a carton of juice, eggs, and bacon before paying and heading home. She uttered a small apology to Gus as she proceeded to follow evasion tactics to throw off any tails she might've missed. He just trotted along and went with it.

* * *

The familiar aroma of salted eggs and succulent fried bacon made Clint's mouth water before he was fully conscious. He heard the gently scraping of a wooden spatula on a frying pan and the sizzling of the cooking oil. It had diabetes written all over it but damn was he starving. Cracking his eyes open, he was grateful for the lack of lighting in the apartment as a headache took over. Then the memories of last night came back to him. Mild hangover aside, he wrapped Natasha's blanket over his shoulders and shuffled into the kitchen.

"You made breakfast." He stated more than asked. He sat down and rubbed the sleep out of one of his eyes, looking intently at the plate of warm food before him.

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not as helpless as I appear." She said, emptying her scrambled eggs onto a plate and setting it on the table. Tossing one piece of stray bacon to Gus, she shooed him away from the kitchen, "I can't see it, but he stares when I eat sometimes. He can fetch things for me and navigate through a city easily, but when I try to teach him manners he's suddenly stubborn."

He gave a light chuckle before he started digging into his food, "I can see that. God, this is so good."

"You act like you've never tasted my specialty bacon and eggs hangover cure." She remarked, taking a sip of her orange juice.

"I think they taste better after five years since I last had them." He said with a slightly full mouth.

She glared at him, "Manners, Barton. " she reminded. He gave an amused smirk before finishing his mouthful.

"So what's on the schedule today?" He asked.

"I've gotta take _pulgas_ over there to the pet groomer. He's too rowdy for me to bathe on my own." His Spanish was a little rusty but he was almost sure she called Gus "fleas".

"I can help." He offered.

Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him, "You, help me bathe a dog? Clint, you hate large filthy animals." She remarried, reminding him of that bear they were caged next to when they'd been captured on a mission and thrown into a shipping container on a cargo ship. Definitely one of their weirdest stories ever.

"He's not as big as Smokey and besides, how rowdy could he be?" He asked innocently. Natasha held back a smirk and finished her breakfast.

Half an hour later, a wet and sudsy Gus jumped out of the bath tub for the second time and ran away from Clint. The dog proceeded to shake himself of the excess water right as Natasha had emerged from her bedroom to check on the pair.

Clint froze just as Natasha did before he burst out laughing. Her hair now had white clouds of bubbles in it and her face was speckled with dirty dog water. Gus simply looked up at her with his goofy dog face. Steeling her gaze, she quickly scooped the still growing wet German Shepherd into her arms and walked past Clint, who had large water stains on his shirt and pants.

Another twenty minutes later, Gus emerged seemingly dry and clean of any previous blemishes. He scurried off to his bed cushion to rub himself dry.

Meanwhile, his owner and her companion sat in the wet bathroom floor, backs against the outside of the tub, "Have you ever seen the movie Marley &amp; me?" Asked Clint from beside her.

"If it came out after 2006, then no." She replied, running her fingers through her frizzing hair.

"Well then we need to watch it. Now _that_ dog makes Gus look like a saint." He said.

"Gus is a saint, what are you talking about, Clinton? I mean have you seen him? 'Cuz I sure haven't." He smiled widely at her words. She truly was unstoppable. She'd crack jokes to him at the worst times, like when she'd been shot in Alaska and he stupidly asked her if she was okay:

_"Are you kidding? I feel great. I'm ready for round two. Come one, Clint, shoot me some more." _

To which he'd scowled in disapproval, letting her know her sarcasm was not appreciated. This moment, however, was one of the times she was _appropriately_ funny. He took it as a privilege to see her relaxed enough to just say the first thing came to her mind. Not everyone at SHIELD knew this side of her, and it was something he wished was common knowledge. Yes, the infamous Black Widow, house Romanoff, killer of killers, can _laugh_. She'd told him on one occasion that if she was humorous around all of the other agents they'd be paralyzed in fear long before they'd figure out how to react. That, and it would take away from her street cred.

"How'd you manage to train that rascal like a guide dog? The idea follows that if they are that obedient, they're usually pretty calm, too." He asked.

She simply shrugged, "I stopped questioning his antics when he saved me from being flattened by some dumb driver. I guess he's focused when he needs to be and the rest of the time, he relaxes and lets out all the stupid."bad the words left her mouth, she couldn't help but think about how Clint was the same way. He was all business in missions but when he was off the clock, he was goofy and relaxed.

He paused, "You almost got run over? When?" He demanded lightly.

"Yesterday." She replied flatly, "I forgot that walking through DC during rush hour wasn't a good idea. After that, I decided to catch a cab back here."

He looked at her, slightly off put by the casual tone in which she recalled what could've been a fatal car accident. Clint then realized that Natasha had been on her own taking care of herself just fine for the past five years and long before she had ever met him. A faint wooden creak and metallic rattling drew Clint's eyes to Natasha's bedroom, visible from his spot by the bathtub. Gus was rolling around in her bed, completely careless, as he tried to dry his damp fur on her blue comforter. Smirking, he spoke, "I think it was more an act of self preservation above anything else. If you get flattened, who's gonna feed him? Whose bed is he gonna rub all over in an attempt to dry himself?"

Her eyes widened in realization before annoyance took over, "Gus!" She scolded firmly. The dog immediately froze and looked at her attentively, ears perked to listen, "Get down from there!" He lowered his ears and tucked his tail, bowing his head as he slowly jumped off her now messy queen sized bed and trotted over to his own dog mattress on the floor, "I don't know why he likes doing that. Now I'm have to clean his fur off my sheets." She said, but didn't make a move to get up.

"Hey, Nat?"

"Yeah?" She replied.

Clint tried the recall exactly what he wanted to say to her, "Thanks." He said, satisfied that it summed up his words.

She turned her head towards him, soft green eyes looking past him, "Anytime, Clint." He got to his feet and helped her up, "We smell like wet dog."

He sniffed his shirt collar and nodded, "Yeah."

"But you," she said, pointing her finger and poking his shoulder, "smell like wet dog and liquor. So, you shower first and I'll clean up my bed."

"Yes ma'am." He said with a grin. Natasha walked off and Clint turned around to figure out her shower.

* * *

Two male figures stood across a desk in a dark office room illuminated by a lone desk lamp with a green umber shade over it.

"No, Boss, she didn't see us tailing her." Answered a gruff man in a black beanie and jacket.

"Of course not, you fool, she's blind." Replied a more than irritated voice.

"What he means, Madame Hydra, is that we went by undetected. She was startled momentarily but after we pulled back, she relaxed." Clarified the second man.

Hydra leaned back on her black leather chair behind her dark cherrywood desk, squeezing a green stress ball, "Natasha Romanoff has become a thorn in my side." Her voice dark and menacing, "Drakov was foolish for thinking he could outsmart her. The Black Widow is a legend, and legends die hard." She unclenched her fist and revealed a pummeled stress ball before turning her hand and letting it fall to the floor, "Keep your eyes on her. When we make our move, I want to know _exactly_ where she is."

"Yes, Madame Hydra." The two men replied. They both quickly exited the dark office, shutting the heavy oak doors behind them.

Hydra glared pensively at the doors before pressing a button on her speakerphone, "Aldus," she said as soon as the other line picked-up.

"Yes madame?" replied a clear voice in a South African accent.

"Tell your agent to plant the seed. And mobilize units to the facility in Sweden. We have work to do." She ordered and hung up.

* * *

**OH SNAP! Madame Hydra is my all time favorite Marvel super villain. Look her up on Marvel Wiki if you've never heard of her. Honestly, I think she and the Joker would get along swimmingly. **

**Things are definitely gonna pick up soon but I assure you, this fic still has a lot to tell. As I said before, chapter 11 will up the rating so it might get darker in content later in (but nothing grizzly, I assure you).**

**As always, let me know what you think!**


	10. The Beginning

**Disclaimer in chapter 1**

**Thanks to carolzocas, Guest, sailorraven34, JWolf28, JoMiSm, and beverlie4055 for your reviews. And also, thank you to those of you that followed this fic! I just crossed the 3,000 views mark so if you're reading this, click the review button at the end of the chapter! It only takes a minute. **

**Enjoy**

* * *

_**SHIELD Headquarters, Washington DC, three weeks later**_

"And you're sure about this?" Questioned Fury. In front of him were Natasha and lead intelligence officer Gert Botha.

"Positive, sir." Answered Natasha.

"We found the cypher imbedded in the coding of one of the programs on the first flash drive." Botha said.

"And thanks to Hydra's predictability—"

"—And Agent Romanoff's inside knowledge." quipped Botha.

"—we found the keyword to be _venom_." Finished Natasha.

"Once we cracked it, the cipher led us to this," Botha pulled up an image on the screen, "Dr. Sall said these are the blueprints to a synthetic chemical. She doesn't know the exact functions, but judging from its ingredients, it's not good." Botha opened up more files. "Further digging and analysis of data revealed that one of the key elements in the chemical is yttrium-90. It's a rare element and therefore highly regulated."

"By process of elimination, the only place they could obtain it would be a mountain range in Sweden." Said Natasha, "Agents Barton and Morse have already come up with a tactical plan to infiltrate and obtain any intel on the chemical."

"And what makes getting this chemical so important?" Questioned Fury.

"During my time with Drakov, there was talk about creating the perfect brainwashing chemical. That's why he was based in Sweden: he was close to another facility that mined the yttrium-40." Natasha elaborated, "Like the guards at the facility with computer chips, Hydra wants a way to guarantee loyalty and control over it's members. Drakov was one of the scientists helping to develop a less invasive way of doing so. Only one in fifteen woke up from the brain chip procedure."

"What we're saying is that infiltrating the facility and getting those plans would allow us to hinder the rate at which they multiply. Agent Romanoff estimates that they will soon be operating at a level of capacity equal to that of SHIELD with the help of this developing chemical." elaborated Botha, "We may even be able to make an antiserum if we acquire the rest of the plans."

Fury eyed the two agents, and the dog, in front of him, "Gather supplies and fuel-up the quinjet. If you're right, this is something that needs to be dealt with sooner rather than later." He turned to Natasha, "Romanoff, you and Coulson will stay here and act as handlers for Zeta and their support team."

She shouldn't have been surprised, but Natasha couldn't help but feel like Fury's orders were affirmation that she was now useless in the field as the operative she once was. Swallowing down her emotions, she simply gave him a curt nod.

* * *

"For the last time, Coulson, we're fine." Clint insisted as he loaded supplies into the quinjet, "This isn't the first time we've gone on a mission after an argument."

"This is more than an argument, Clint. You're getting divorced." Said Coulson. He only ever used Clint's first name when they were talking as friends. Only Coulson, Natasha, and Fury knew that he and Bobbi were getting divorced, but Coulson seemed to be the only one who insisted on bringing it up every once in a while.

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me." Clint answered bitterly.

"I've always been against SHIELD's fraternization policy. Even if dating within the agency keeps things in the circle of influence, it's problematic when things like this happen."

Clint stopped packing and sighed, "Coulson, this isn't a bitter angry divorce we're going through. You know we were fighting long before Natasha showed up. This was a mutual agreement. We're both professional adults." He resumed packing, "Besides, she seems to be moving on fairly quickly. You know Jason from accounting?" Coulson gave him an _'Are you serious?' _look, "Oh yeah." Clint chuckled, "She's fine. I'm fine. And we're still partners. Things'll get back to normal before you know it."

Coulson quirked an eyebrow, "Hawkeye and Mockingbird normal? Yeah, that'll be the day." He slipped on his black sunglasses and walked back into HQ.

It actually surprised Clint how he and Bobbi were coping. Sure, there were some awkward moments in the last three weeks since she moved out, but there was a sense of relief and ease between them now. It seemed that for a long time they denied what they knew to be true for fear of hurting one another, or even themselves, but now things were good, better, he could argue. She was still one of his closest friends and confidants.

Then there was Natasha. Ever since he woke up at her place with a slight hangover, he felt as if he'd gotten his best friend back. The thought of it made him outwardly smile.

"What's so funny, birdbrain?" Teased a familiar voice.

He turned around and gave a small bow, "Why, Agent Morse, good evening."

She waved him off and strapped her pack to the wall of the quinjet, "When do we leave?"

"In about twenty." He replied, taking a seat.

"And where are the others?" She asked, noting the lack of support team.

"On route." He replied. She took a seat opposite him and looked around the compartment. An awkward silence filled the space between them until Clint couldn't take it anymore, "So," he quipped, "you and Jason, huh?"

Bobbi tilted her head in amusement, "You know he and I have been friends since we were at the academy, Clint." she looked him once over, smirking, before retorting, "What about you and Romanoff? Spending some quality one on two time with her trusty companion lately?"

"That dog is actually the most most unpredictable things. He's focused on the job but turns into a goofball when he's off the clock."

"Hmm, sounds like someone I know." She said innocently.

"You're getting cheeky on me, Morse." Before Bobbi reply to him, the rest of the tac team loaded onto the quinjet, strapping themselves in, "About damn time, guys." Clint said.

"Cortez over there couldn't find his lucky boots." Said one of the agents.

"They're a must have when we go on missions like this, Muller. You don't joke about these things." Agent Cortez replied seriously. He glared at Muller when she laughed.

"Enough, you two." Scolded a third agent, "You're embarrassing yourselves in front of SHIELD's top strike team."

"Thank you for finally gracing us with your presence Agent Kruger." said Clint, "It's been a while since we've worked with the another team."

"Likewise." Replied the agent. He was older than the two teenagers on his team. A man of much experience and an Iraq war hero, Kruger was considered a respectable member of SHIELD.

"I'll let the pilot know we're ready for take off." Said Bobbi.

Moments later, she returned and the quinjet shut its door, humming as it left the flight deck.

* * *

**Northern Sweden, four hours later**

_"Clint, you copy?" _

"I copy you, Widow." He whispered as he and the others crouched behind a hill overlooking the Hydra facility.

From Washington DC, Natasha smirked at the use of her codename, _"Botha reported about fifteen heat signatures around the outside of the compound. A live feed will be streamed to you shortly."_

Clint looked down at a small tablet in his hand as the infrared images appeared, "Got it. Engaging in two." He looked over at Kruger, nodding and heading in.

The agents surrounding the facility were easily subdued, "Kill the system," Clint ordered through his comm.

A computer tech named Wallace tapped away on his keyboard, _"Entrance go."_

Natasha paced nervously, Gus's leash hanging loosely in her hand, as she heard them engage the Hydra agents.

"It's gonna be okay, Natasha." Whispered Coulson from beside her.

She stopped pacing and nodded, "Yeah."

"Okay, Widow," Clint called as he took cover behind a door, "Where to next?"

_"They always have their data rooms at the deepest levels of their facilities. There's usually a staircase somewhere. Follow it until you come across a door with a cobra painted on it."_

"How inconspicuous of them." Said Bobbi as she quietly took down the last guard.

Kruger and the other two agents came up beside them, "We'll cover the upper levels, you two sweep down and get the intel." He suggested.

Clint nodded and headed down the staircase with Bobbi.

"This thing goes on forever, jeez." Complained Bobbi.

_"They have the secure rooms at the deeper levels to make an extraction more difficult."_ Said Natasha, _"Be careful you don't trip any alarms you two."_ It took her a while to realize she'd resumed pacing.

"Found it." Said Clint. The door in front of him had an intricately painted snake on it, eyes green and red with poison, "And that's not creepy at all." He said, pulling out a device and holding it over the scanner. It clicked green and the door unlocked, releasing the vacuum tight seal to the room with a light hiss. Guns poised, the pair stalked in.

Couslon couldn't help but eye Botha cautiously as the young officer watched the scenes play out with a familiar glint in his eyes. Turning back to the screen, he brushed it off.

Coulson, Botha, and Wallace watched the night vision feed from Clint's vest camera. The room was dark except for a blinding white light of a single computer monitor hooked up to a single hard drive. Bells went off in Coulson's head, "That's too small a drive for all the intel that's supposed to be there." He said aloud.

"Regardless, I'm plugging in the thumb drive." Clint's voiced buzzed through the speakers in the SHIELD control room.

_"Look for an HTML file code. It'll read Project Venom." _ instructed Natasha.

"Copy." Said Clint as his eyes skimmed over the files on the brightly lit screen. Bobbi was covering him, gun poised at the door in high alert.

"Huh," said Botha from his chair in the control room.

"What is it?" Asked Natasha.

"It's nothing it's just..." He hesitated, zooming in on a still from Clint's camera on a small screen.

"Out with it, Botha." She demanded.

"Well, I mean, does that look like a cobra to you?" He asked, eyes glued to the screen.

She gave an annoyed look and rolled her eyes, "I wouldn't know since I'm _blind_." She raised her voice on the last word.

"Shit, sorry, um, guys?" He said, gesturing to Coulson and Wallace.

The two men came closer and looked at the painted image, "Looks more like a viper to me. Don't know your snakes, Agent Romanoff?" Said Wallace with a smirk.

The color seemed to drain from her face as she registered Wallace's words, "Get out. Get out now! All of you!" Urged Natasha through the comm.

"What's going on, Nat?" Asked Clint. The file on the screen was 89% copied.

"It's a trap. That was a viper on the door. Hydra is coming for you! Get out now!" Her impatience was growing along with her panic.

_"What do you mean? Is Kruger's team down? How many agents are headed our way?"_ He asked from the other side. 96 %.

Natasha slammed her fist on the computer table, _"Clint, I swear to God I will explain as soon as you both get your asses out of that file room right __now_."

_"You might as well start now. The file is only three percent away from being loaded so we'll be outta here in fifteen seconds."_

Natasha groaned in frustration, gritting her teeth, "_Madame_ Hydra." Those were the only two words she needed to say before he ripped the thumb drive from the USB port and motioned for Bobbi to exit.

Just as she reached the door handle, it clicked shut. Cursing, she pulled harder on it, "Wallace, door is locked!" Her voice was laced with panic.

Wallace quickly got to work on his computer as his network began flashing red, "No, no, no, no." He repeated, "It's locking me out, too. I've only got access to the security feed."

_"I hate to make things worse, but it seems reinforcements are headed for us."_ said Agent Kruger. He and his agents braced themselves for the oncoming Hydra agents.

"We're trapped in here." Stated Bobbi.

_"Okay, there should be a hatch above you guys. It's the ventilation shaft. You should be able to crawl through it."_ offered Natasha.

Just as he registered the words, Clint looked up at the sound of the shaft being opened. He and Bobbi raised their guns and aimed, "Uh, I think someone beat us to it."

Then the room went dark. The computer screen shut off and in a flurry of swift movements, he felt himself being thrown across the room, landing on the concrete floor with a loud crack of his skull. His vision swam as he heard the faint struggle between Bobbi and their attacker. Feeling around on his tac vest, Clint pulled out a glow stock and lit it up, throwing it in the direction of the struggle.

The light bounced off the tall thin figure of a woman holding Bobbi against the wall with her hand closed tightly around the agent's throat. Bobbi gasped for air, mouth agape as she looked into the eyes of Madame Hydra herself. They were a venomous green. Hydra's crimson red lips tugged into a sadistic smile at seeing the look of panic and terror in the young woman's features. Reaching down, Hydra placed a soft kiss on Bobbi's gasping lips. Her eyes widened at the sensation of burning pain consuming her body as she came in contact with venomous woman. Bobbi felt like fire was coursing through her veins, boiling every fluid in her body. A choked scream fell from her throat as Hydra pulled back, admiring her handy work before letting Bobbi crumble to the ground, coughing and wheezing in silent, choking, excruciating agony, "Pathetic." She said, seeing the young woman fight back tears in vain.

Hydra turned her attention to Clint, who was trying to stand, despite the overwhelming dizziness and nausea. His limbs felt so _heavy_. He'd been hit on the head before, but that just about topped it. His double vision made it harder to stay awake and focus on the approaching figure. He finally managed to stand up straight, only to lose his balance and fall against the wall, clinging to it as he slid back down to the floor.

Hydra kneeled down in front of him, eyeing him with a malicious glint in her emerald green eyes, "So _you're_ the reason I lost one of my top scientists." His mind reeled, trying to figure out what he did to personally piss off Madame Fucking Hydra, _'Oh wait, Natasha did that part for you' _he thought, recalling how she killed Drakov to save his life. A loud banging on the door drew him back to the present, "You're friends are here, which means I don't have much time. I'm only going to say this once," she paused tipping his chin up to her as she opened her mouth and released a paralyzingly toxin into his face. He breathed in, despite himself, and began to fall limp. She tapped the lens of the tiny camera on Clint's vest, "You're recording this so you can play it back if I talk too fast for you pathetic knaves the first time around." Natasha clenched her fists in anger as she listened to the live feed, "I'm talking to you, Natalia, when I say you have two options here. You can either keep digging, and watch those you care for die, or you can halt your contract with _SHIELD_ and maybe, you'll live. Either way, the destruction will not end with Hydra." She said, twirling one of Clint's knives in her hand, "Nihilism, terrorism, _death_. You remember, right?" She pricked her finger with the tip of the blade and licked it off, grinning into the camera, "Pick your poison, Romanova." She said before jabbing her sharp fingernail at the camera, shutting off the visual feed.

Clint barely heard the sound of Kruger and the others breaking through the door. Cortez immediately went to attend Bobbi as Muller cleared the room and Kruger kneeled down in front of Clint. He went unconscious before Kruger could even try to keep him awake.

* * *

**Isn't Madame Hydra just a doll? **

**Well there's chapter 10, short, I know, but the last T rated chapter! Curious as to why the rating suddenly went up for chapter 11? Review and find out! **


	11. A Deification

**Disclaimer in chapter 1**

**Here it is folks! The long awaited rating changer! Thanks to sailorraven34, JWolf28, sherimi, JoMiSm, beverlie4055 (thanks for the constant insight). **

**Just a side note, I didn't realize (or rather I forgot) that the setting of this fic is before...well now so some things like songs or movies may be off lol. But whatever, you guys probably didn't notice so I'm gonna stop typing and let you guys get on to reading...**

**Enjoy**

* * *

She couldn't breathe. She needed to get out of there, right away. Stumbling back, Natasha hit the chair she was initially sitting in and startled Gus. She felt the other agents eyes on her as her control slowly started to slip away. She saw flashes, memories of torture and pain. She screwed her eyes shut to will them away but they persisted. Someone called her name but she was too far gone. Natasha quickly reached for the door and threw it open, a trembling hand holding on to Gus's leash for dear life as she told him to find a bathroom.

The door flew open and ricocheted off the wall. Slamming it shut, Natasha turned on the faucet and washed her face with the cold water. She left the water to pour out violently as she braced a hand on the edge of the sink and slid down to the ground. Her chest still felt tight. Gus whined from beside her, itching to go get help.

She threw her black glasses across the floor and rubbed her eyes, images still haunting her. She brought her knees up to her chest and held her hands over her ears. Rocking back and forth against the bathroom wall, she began whispering to herself on Russian. The language easily rolled off her tongue despite the disuse. She felt Gus nudge his nose under her hand to let her know he was there. Natasha let herself slowly pet the soft fur on his crown as her heart rate slowed down and her breathing returned.

Hydra had awakened something with in her she didn't know was capable of resurfacing. A deeply rooted fear conditioned in the Red Room had taken hold of her. Memories and horror and pain at the hands of that women had haunted Natasha's youth. To think Hydra had somehow gotten to Clint, to _anyone _she knew, made Natasha's spine quiver in dread.

She mentally scolded herself for her momentary weakness. Breakdowns happened to people that weren't her. She had to focus and pull herself together. Thinking clearly, she realized that this wasn't helping anyone, certainly not Clint or Bobbi. Steeling her features, Natasha willed herself to get up, pick up her glasses, and swallow her emotions.

* * *

**SHIELD Medical, four hours later **

Natasha stood, arms crossed, in front of the observation window to the closed off medical room holding Clint and Bobbi. They were contained upon arrival for fear of the toxin in their systems being airborne.

She heard familiar footsteps come up behind her, "You know, the point of standing there is so you can _see_ the patients." Said Fury.

"I'm practicing using my imagination." She said deadpanned. They were silent for a moment, "They're dying." Announced the redhead.

"I know."

"It's my fault." Her voice was flat and devoid of any guilt or remorse Fury had been expecting, "I literally didn't see the signs that were right in front of me." She confessed.

"Blaming yourself isn't going to fix this, Natasha." Fury reminded.

"No," she agreed, "Killing Hydra will." Her features hardened as anger seethed from her every fiber.

"She gave you an ultimatum. You sure you can do this?" His voice questioned in a professional tone.

"She threatened my colleagues—my _friends_. I'll be damned if I let her get away with that." Natasha replied firmly. She'd learned long ago that hatred and revenge went hand in hand, and that the need to protect the nest, or oneself, was mankind's strongest and most primal instinct. This was no exception.

Before Fury could respond, rapidly approaching footsteps drew his attention, "Sir! Thank God I found you!" Said the familiar voice of Dr. Garcia, "I have good news!" She smiled from ear to ear, looking between Fury and Natasha.

"Well? Out with it, Doc." Urged Fury.

"Right, uh, okay, so, remember the blood samples I took from Agent Romanoff and how they had some weird chemical in it?" She asked, not waiting for their response, "Well, we did testing, like you asked, and found that it kills literally every bad foreign chemical it encounters. We tested our own blend with various extremely potent venoms and drugs and found that it latched onto and killed anyone that harmed the host organism." Natasha could hear Dr. Garcia's enthusiastic breathlessness.

"What are you saying, Doctor?" She asked attentively.

"I'm saying we can cure them." Dr. Garcia handed Fury the paper in her hand, "With much lower doses, of course. I just need your official approval since our version hasn't been tested on humans yet."

Natasha furrowed her eyebrows, "Are you saying this could kill them?"

"It could cure them no problem or it could do any number of things, we're not sure. Chemicals react differently with each species, also, with each person." She paused, looking for Natasha's reaction, "It's the only hope we've got at getting them back, Agent."

"Coulson is their medical proxy." Said Natasha, uncrossing her arms, "He's napping in the break room. He'll want to know about this." She walked off and heard the sound of pen to paper as Fury signed the approval.

She heard Coulson stir as she and Gus walked into the break room. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, watching the Russian take a seat on the nearest couch. Coulson placed his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, shaking his head as he spoke, "I'm so sorry, Natasha."

He looked up at her seated across from him, noting the lack of remorse, "Dr. Garcia says the chemical in my blood can cure them. They'll be setting up shortly." She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, realizing she was sleepy because it was about four in the morning, _'Poor Gus' _she thought, "I just thought you should know." She finally added.

"That's great."

"Yeah." She replied.

Coulson eyed her across from him, pondering a thought but not exactly sure if he should seek an answer. If Natasha was anything, she was guarded, and Coulson knew this well; but right now, he needed to know. He needed to know why two of his agents were currently lying in medical and it seemed that the woman before him could help him answer that question, "How do you and Hydra know each other?"

Natasha had been expecting the question, but that didn't mean she'd enjoy answering it. Clenching her jaw, she took in a breath, "Hydra was one of many collaborators on the experiments the Red Room performed on us. Of course, back then, she was only Dr. Sarkissian." She fiddled with her glasses in her hands, "She was and still is the most ruthless and blood-thirsty creature on this earth. The things she did to us..." Natasha trailed off, holding back the bile that creeped up the back of her throat, "I was the only one to survive the enhancers. For years I wished I died like the rest of them." Her voice was quiet, "but the universe is never that merciless. I fought my way out. It wasn't until Drakov captured me that I smelled her familiar venomous scent on one occasion while I was recovering from the implant. She was there, watching and keeping tabs." Natasha placed her glasses back over her eyes, "That was the only time I detected her." She tilted her head and turned to Coulson, "Don't tell me SHIELD didn't know she was now the head of Hydra?"

"No, we knew. Hydra's recent activity in the last seven years had turned unusually violent."

"She's a nihilist. She'll do anything if it spreads death and destruction." Natasha gave Gus some treats from her coat pocket, waiting for a moment before she stood up, "They should be ready by now."

"Right." Coulson slipped on his suit jacket and walked to the medical room with Natasha.

She waited idly from from behind the observation glass as Coulson suited up and went into the room. He nodded at Dr. Garcia to administer the doses. As far as Natasha could tell, nothing happened immediately, then Bobbi's heart monitor spiked. The doctors rushed to help stabilize her when Clint suddenly did the same. Natasha's fist clenched tighter around Gus's leash.

Clint was the first to wake up. His eyes snapped open as he struggled to breathe. A figure hovered over him and he reacted, grabbing the person into a choke hold, "Clint! Barton, hey, let her go!" Called Coulson's familiar voice. Clint visibly relaxed and let go, watching Dr. Garcia cough and gasp for breath.

He looked around the room, noticing the hoard of nurses and doctors huddled around what looked like Bobbi, "Wha-what happened? Who did that?" He demanded angrily.

Coulson placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder as he gently nudged Clint down, back onto the bed, "You were poisoned by Madame Hydra. We gave you an antidote, but it looks like it's working faster on you than Bobbi." Coulson answered.

The wild beeping of Bobbi's heart monitor ceased but she remained comatose. Dr. Garcia immediately moved to closer inspect, "What's wrong? Why isn't she waking up?" Asked Clint's dry voice.

The doctor did a quick examination of Bobbi and told a nurse to draw blood, "It's just like Agent Coulson said, the serum seems to be taking longer to eliminate the poison."

"But she's fine, right? She's gonna be fine?" He couldn't hide the panic in his voice.

"She's stable," replied Dr. Garcia, "You need to be moved out of here right away and into a separate room." A few nurses moved towards Clint, "It would be appreciated if you went easily. You can see Agent Morse once we're certain it's safe."

Clint looked to Coulson who nodded in agreement. The recovering Agent looked to the medical room window, seeing a familiar Russian clench her jaw and turn around, walking away.

He didn't get to ponder over it too much before a nurse injected a sedative into the IV and he went limp on the hospital bed.

* * *

Natasha walked into her apartment and took off Gus's vest, letting him know he was done for the day. Removing her coat, she let it fall carelessly on the ground as she stalked over to her kitchen. She knelt down and opened a drawer by the sink she didn't know she'd be needing so soon and pulled out a bottle of Russian vodka. Slamming the cabinet shut, she unscrewed the cap and took a long swig from the bottle, letting the liquid burn her tongue and throat.

Natasha wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist as she approached the small iPod dock and turned it on. _"Come With Me Now_" by the Kongos filled her small apartment. She took a seat on a chair by the coffee table and gulped down some more vodka, tossing off her glasses. Drinking was something she did before she met Clint, before she had someone to talk to. Natasha knew that talking was the wrong thing to do, right now, no one needed something else to worry about. So, she did what she always did: she kept it to herself.

No matter what Coulson, or Fury, or anyone else said to her, she knew it was her fault. Her God damn blindness almost cost Clint and Bobbi their lives. Not only that, Hydra's vendetta against the red haired Russian was now affecting people not directly involved. Hydra was like a cancer that just wouldn't go away.

Natasha took another gulp of vodka.

Madame Hydra was personally after her. The woman who took pleasure in giving surprise visits during anti-interrogation training while at the Red Room. The woman who took pleasure in watching the girls slaughter each other. The woman who never aged, a trait she passed on to Natasha, who was born in 1928, with the use of the enhancer serum. Now, Natasha could feel herself growing older. The chemical Drakov gave her was slowly taking away the enhancers. With them, Natasha had once bested Hydra in a fight before the viper fought dirty and bit Natasha. That was a long time ago, when Natasha was strong, cunning, and ruthless.

Now?

She stumbled over her coffee table if she wasn't paying attention. She needed help getting groceries at the store. She had a dog to help her get around. She couldn't even help her team on a God damned mission.

_"You are __**weak**__, Natasha," _a dark venomous voice said in the back of her mind, _"__**Nichego**_ _,you are nothing," _she clenched her jaw angrily, "Y_ou are merely an empty woman, a shell of the Black Widow and her legacy,_" her grip tightened around the neck of the bottle, cracking it, _"You are __**useless**__." _Natasha let out an angry cry as she stood and chucked the half empty vodka bottle at the wall. It shattered against the surface, effectively muting the menacing voice and eliciting a startled bark from Gus.

Natasha huffed with rage, "You want a fight, Hydra, I'll give you a fight." She said through gritted teeth. Grabbing Gus's vest, she redressed and shut off the iPod dock, "You're sleeping at SHIELD tonight, Gus. I've got work to do." The door clicked shut behind her, glasses abandoned on the coffee table.

* * *

_**SHIELD medical, 28 hours later**_

"And that's it, you're free to go Agent Barton." Said Dr. Garcia.

"That's it?" He asked in disbelief, putting on his shirt and jacket.

"That's it. Though, be careful," she warned, "if you notice anything strange or feel any different, you let me know immediately."

Clint noded, "And Bobbi?"

"The blood work says she's progressing normally, but slowly. At this rate, she should wake up in a little over a week." Replied the doctor. She moved to leave before spinning on her heel, "Also, if you see Agent Romanoff, please tell her I need to speak with her immediately. She's refusing my calls and I have no idea where she's hiding."

"Sure thing, doc." Clint said.

Coulson entered the room just as Dr. Garcia exited, "Did you get a clean bill of health?"

"As always." Answered Clint, "You seen Natasha around?"

Coulson let out an exasperated sigh, "She's locked herself up in the office. She won't even let Botha in and she's only left to feed Gus and let him do his business."

"Since when?" Clint asked as they walked to the elevator.

"Since almost two days ago, when you woke up." He paused as they reached the elevator doors, "She and Hydra were acquainted, before this, and it seems to be getting to her. It's like when she was hunting the Red Room, only this time, I'm afraid for her, Clint." Coulson said truthfully, "Madame Hydra is the physical form of evil itself. There's no saying what she'll do."

Clint clenched his jaw pensively and nodded as the elevator opened, "I'll talk to her. She's gonna be fine."

Coulson turned to leave, "And make sure she eats, the last meal she had was almost two days ago." He called over his shoulder.

Clint hit the button to the desired floor and let out a sigh.

* * *

Clint pressed his code into the keypad and scanned his retina. The door opened and revealed a fairly large room with lab equipment and screens for planning missions. His eyes wandered to the far right corner of the room. He could clearly see the familiar form of the person he was looking for through the transparent walls of the computer room. Large screens and holograms were opposite the walls. Inside, Gus was curled up in a corner as Natasha tapped away at a keyboard.

He was surprised to find the door unlocked as he went for the handle, "So this is where you've been hiding and avoiding me." He said, taking a seat beside her.

"I haven't been avoiding, just busy." She replied still typing.

"Too busy to visit your partner in medical?" He asked. Her typing briefly stuttered before continuing on its previous rhythm.

"I'm not your partner anymore. The woman lying in a coma a few floors down is your partner."

"Regardless, we're a team, and teams look out for each other." He said, tilting his head to gage her reaction, "How do you even know what you're typing anyways?" He asked, changing the subject once he noticed her start to shut him out.

Natasha turned her head so he could see the small earpiece, "Text to speech audio. That and I memorized the keyboard." Clint looked at the screen and marveled at the sight of what looked like complex coding, "When's the last time you ate?"

"This morning." She lied.

"You insult me, Natasha." He feigned hurt.

"Well you just got out of medical. A girl can try." She clenched her jaw as she began to struggle to focus on the coding. It was hard enough to do as it was, but talking and trying to type made her realize exactly how tired she was. It usually took four days without sleep for her to feel the affects. The damn blue chemical was eating away at her, and it was showing.

"Natasha, please." His voice was soft. Her hands stopped tying all together, "Let me take you back to your place, take a shower, eat. This'll all still be here when you get back." He placed a hand on the armrest and swiveled her chair to face him. She didn't protest, "Poor Gus hasn't seen the light of day in a while."

Natasha simply bowed her head and nodded, allowing Clint to hold the door open for her as she and Gus walked through.

By the time the taxi arrived at her apartment some forty minutes later, Natasha had practically fallen asleep on Clint. Paying the driver, he took Gus's leash from her hand and hooked an arm around her waist. She stirred and tried to walk on her own but ended up leaning against Clint anyways.

They got to the hall, where a man wearing dirty plastered pants who was a little taller than Clint eyed Natasha and gave a polite greeting before he too entered his apartment.

The first thing Clint noticed as he closed the door behind him was the smell of alcohol. He set Natasha down on the couch and found a broken vodka bottle on the floor behind her, "It was an accident." She said, rubbing her eyes.

It was then that he noticed the cuts on her palms; he quickly took a seat beside her, "Gimme," he urged. She knew exactly what he meant as she have him her hand, palm up, to examine, "Nat, there are still tiny pieces of glass in this." His voice was scolding but concerned.

"I didn't see them when I looked at it." Clint rolled his eyes.

"Well I'm gonna clean it up so come on." He helped her steady herself as she stood from the couch. Natasha shrugged off her coat and tossed it on the floor, "You're as messy as ever."

"Just clean up my hand and call it a day." Fifteen minutes later, Natasha was glass free and showered. Emerging from her bedroom with damp hair, she smelled the familiar aroma of Thai take-out from down the block. She took a seat next to him on the couch and they ate in silence.

"You need to take care of yourself, Nat." Said Clint, noticing she was just moving her food around her plate.

She set down her half eaten piece of chicken, "What, like I took care of you and Bobbi?" She asked.

"That wasn't your fault." He insisted.

"It sure feels like it." Natasha paused for a moment, "But she still needs to be brought down. Hydra is a true monster. This is bigger than just me and her; it's everyone."

"That doesn't meant you need to run yourself into the dirt trying to fight back." She felt his knee nudge against hers from beside her, "You were shot three times when you brought down the Red Room because you were sleep deprived and careless. You almost _died_." Clint paused when Natasha turned away from him, "Nat, please, I don't know what I'd do if I really lost you this time around."

She clenched her jaw and turned back to him. Her eyes were soft and he recognized a sliver of acceptance in them. What he didn't expect was the sudden sensation of her lips on his. It took him a while to feel her hand in his as another found its way to his neck, pulling him closer. Closing his eyes, he sank into her, opening his mouth when he felt her tongue on his lips. Their gentle breathing filled what little space was between them. Pulling back for a breath, he followed Natasha's movements as she slowly pulled him up with her.

She knew the layout of her apartment like the back of her hand. Walking forward, Natasha possessively trapped Clint between herself and the wall as she kissed him once more. His hands snaked up the small of her back and into her damp red hair. She tilted her head when his lips found the soft skin of her neck. She bit her lip when he started nipping at her, leaving light purple kisses in his wake.

He flipped them over, eliciting a surprised gasp from her lips as he brought his hands up to cup her face. Natasha's leg circled around his waist. The feeling of her hands on the hot skin of his abdomen under his shirt brought him to his senses and he realized what was happening. He pulled back suddenly and looked firmly at her, "Natasha—" he began, but she cut him off with a kiss.

She kissed her way to his ear and whispered, "I want this," her warm breath against his skin made his legs weak, "I want _you_." Her voice was urgent and true to her words. Not waiting for his response, she tugged off his shirt as he hoisted her up and carried her to the bedroom.

Cling pulled back and placed a trail of kisses on her skin as he made his way up her torso, pulling her shirt up with him. Her skin was beautiful and soft and more than anything he could've ever imagined; she tasted like sweet sunlight against his lips. Being so close to her, Clint caught on to her unique natural feminine scent that was entirely her own and was, at the moment, driving him completely insane.

Natasha was in a frenzy of sensation. She felt every inch of him against her. Senses heightened, his every touch made her heart beat faster and skin grow warmer. Her shirt was tossed mindlessly on the floor along with her sports bra as she sat up and straddled his hips, deepening their kiss as her hands felt the tight muscles on his chest and sides. She felt his chest expand and contract under her palms when she got to his abdomen. She felt every dip and every valley of his muscular form; the sensation made her quiver with excitement and desire. Natasha moaned against his lips, tugging at his leather belt, slowly pulling it from its buckle.

Clint leaned forward and pushed her under him and helped her slip his pants off. He saw her eyes shimmer with desire in the darkness of the bedroom before he leaned forward and began to map out a path from her cleavage to the hem of her sweatpants with his lips, paying close attention to her taut and firm breasts. Unable to see him, every touch, every caress, was a surprise to her already reactive senses that made her center flutter with anticipation.

Clint saw the small twitch in her toned abdominal muscles as he slid her pants off with his teeth, along with her underwear, rendering her completely naked before him. Her breathing hitched when she realized what he was about to do. Clint took her in him, relishing in the taste of her moist center. He heard a low moan from above him so uncharacteristic of Natasha, it had to be involuntary. Her legs spread wider as his hands looped around her thighs. He felt her fingers in his sandy blonde hair as he suckled on her. Another moan escaped her lips and _God _she tasted so good.

Natasha lost all sensation in anywhere that wasn't that space between her legs as she bit her lip, moaning again as she felt herself climax. This was so unlike any mark or any man she'd ever slept with, so beyond anything she'd ever _felt_, and it was absolutely amazing. She felt him grin against her whenever she moaned and began plot her revenge when she fell over the edge and couldn't stop his name as it fell from her lips, "Clint," she gasped. She ushered him up, still tingling from her climax, and kicked off his boxers with her feet as he ascended.

They relished in the feeling of their naked bodies pressed against each other. Clint marveled at the sight of her flushed cheeks and full red lips. Natasha felt his hardness against her and she reached down and stroked him firmly, pumping him. A low and pleasurable groan fell from his throat as she did so, feeling her gently bite on the flesh of his neck. Her legs slowly wrapped around his waist, ankles locked together. She startled him when she pulled his hips down into hers with a sudden movement, begging for him.

Clint complied, slowly sliding into her. She let out a small pleasurable gasp as he passed her entrance. He felt breathless and didn't move for a moment, taking in the sensation of being inside her. He felt her tighten her hold around his waist, pressing him closer, her lips kissing his neck in encouragement. That's all he needed before he began to thrust. Natasha grew breathless; he felt so _good_ to her it was unbelievable. She arched against his chest, her puckered breasts coming into contact with his warm skin. His lips on her neck made her moan in satisfaction as she absentmindedly loosened her hold on his hips.

Never before had Natasha resigned herself to another person like she did now. Sex had never been emotional or pleasurable for her, at least, not by the teachings of the Red Room; But now, as she lay naked beneath her ex-partner, all of that went out the window. His touch was electric, sending nervous impulses throughout her body that caused her heart to beat faster and skin grow warm with affection.

Clint Barton made her _feel_.

Deciding he was moving too slow, she flipped him under her and trailed her hands from his neck to his abdomen. The palms of his hands found the soft skin of her breasts and gently squeezed as she began to move on top of him. He groaned her name as she angled herself in exactly the right way, "Jeez, Nat." Her lustful smile was barely visible in the darkness. His fingers felt the light scars on her back and stomach, taking in every marking on her person. Clint felt his abs clench as he tried to hold himself back. The mere sight of her on top of him, head thrown back in pleasure, a sight he had fantasized about years ago like a perverted teenage boy, was enough to throw him over the edge. He needed to move or he'd lose all control.

That was the effect she had on him. Natasha was certainly one of if not the most attractive woman he'd ever encountered; but she was much more than that. She could be gentle and kind and even dorky when she felt relaxed enough. He felt privileged because he was one of two people who ever saw that side of her. Natasha's genuine laugh, her genuine smile and voice, always had a way of making his heart flutter. In that moment of clarity, Clint realized that Natasha Romanoff's artless adoration was all he would ever need.

Getting a grip on her, Clint flipped her under him once more in a tangle of bed sheets and sweat and began moving into her a much more manageable pace. Soon enough, their desperate panting and moaning filled the dark bedroom. Clint felt her walls tighten around him as she neared her second climax, telling him to move faster—_harder_. Nails scratched against the skin on his back as quiet moans escaped her lips. Her body arched and bucked into him when he quickened his pace, approaching his own release. Natasha's head burst with pleasure and for a second she swore she could see stars. Moaning and gasping, she felt him release inside her moments later, groaning as he drove himself into her one last time.

Clint collapsed on top of her, huffing. His head rested on her chest, himself still inside her. Natasha ran her fingers through his hair, legs closing over his hips once more. He propped himself on one arm and looked at her in the darkness. Her lips were red and moist, swollen in passion; her unseeing eyes were dilated in lingering excitement. Clint reached forward and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Natasha wished she could see him, the look in his eyes as he held himself above her; so she settled for second best. Her hands ghosted over his face, her fingertips brushed against his two day old stubble and her thumb glazed over his parted lips. Pulling him into a tender kiss, she felt the grooves of his forehead, the lines around his eyes, the curve of his chin, before resting her wandering hand over the muscles on his shoulder.

Clint rolled onto his side, still holding Natasha as he kissed her. The gentle rise and fall of her breasts felt so right against his bare chest. He closed his eyes as they held each other, listing to the silence of the night, "I love you, Natasha." He uttered. The words left his mouth before he could process them but he realized he didn't regret them.

She kissed his forehead and placed a gentle hand on his cheek, "I love you, too, Clint." It seemed she didn't either.

They fell asleep to the sound of each other's breathing, cradled in each other's arms, all problems temporarily forgotten until they'd wake up the following morning.

* * *

**I'm such a bad person. I didn't know what to do with Bobbi so...I put her in a coma...Not only that, but in retrospect, poor Natasha was exhausted and she still found energy for Clint. If that's not stamina, I don't know what is. **

**That was certainly my longest chapter yet (and, my first attempt at writing proper smut). Let me know what you guys think, please. If there's one thing I love more than a review, it's a long review :) **


	12. The Cure

**Hehehe...so I kina forgot I was writing this because I stopped getting alerts/reviews. A follower alert in my email reminded me that "Oh yeah, I need to update that". That was my longest chapter yet and one of the ones I received the least amount of feedback on. **

**So, yeah, if you want updates, review. If you read this fic, let me know what you think. Honestly, reviews make my day. **

**Disclaimer in chapter 1**

**PS: If you haven't seen the fanart for the previous chapter head over to marveldrawings dottumblr dotcom / post/98208948752/clintasha-request-i-did-early-last-week-heres **

* * *

He wasn't woken by the morning sun, which was still hidden behind the cold winter clouds, but by a light sensation on his chest. Blinking himself awake, Clint was met by the sight of Natasha snuggled up next to him lying on her stomach using his arm as a pillow. Her eyes were closed, index finger absentmindedly drawing circles on his pecs. He smiled down at her and brought his hand up to do the same to her shoulder, "Mornin'." he said.

His voice was deep and raspy. Natasha smiled at the sound of it, "Mornin'." she replied, cracking her sleepy eyes open for a moment. Clint noticed they were back to their usual shade of green with only a faint white tint over them, no longer that angry red glow he'd first seen. He leaned in closer to her, kissing her forehead, combing his fingers through her messy red hair and inhaling the scent of her peach shampoo, "What time is it?"

"You're asking me?" She quirked an eyebrow as she closed her eyes.

"Yea, you're right." Clint looked around but found nothing to indicate the time, "I need to get you a clock, for my sake." He reached across her and glanced at the time on her SHIELD issue phone, "It's 7:24" he said with a sigh as he lay back down and resumed combing his fingers through Natasha's hair, "I think we deserve a day off, don't you?"

Natasha turned on her side and Clint gladly became the big spoon, "And what would we do on such a day off?" She questioned with a hint of a smile on her words.

"Well," he started as he moved strands of her fiery red hair away from her neck, "We could do some cardio to start the day off." He said in between the kisses he placed on the back of her exposed neck. She shied away from him when he touched a particularly tender spot, suppressing the small giggle in her throat. Clint grinned with intent and continued.

"Clint Barton, if you value your life, you will stop trying to confirm if I'm ticklish or not." She warned, although her voice was devoid of any serious threat. Settling for just spooning her, Clint dug his face gently into her hair. He hesitated when his nose came into contact with a bump.

Pulling back, he realized there was a long jagged scar hidden in her hairline extending to the crown of her head, "What's this?" he said, running his thumb over what was at one point a precisely made but poorly stitched up wound.

She turned around and captured his lips in hers, wrapping her thigh against his hip. It was then that Clint realized they were both still _very_ much naked as blood began rushing from his brain to his lower extremities, "I think we should get started on that cardio." She said suggestively, trying to distract him.

Realizing her intentions as she straddled him, Clint pulled back, "_Natasha_,"

"_Clint_," she mimicked his tone, now placing sensual kisses on his neck.

"I know what you're doing," he placed his hands on her shoulders, "and it's not working." The slight breathless stutter in his words betrayed him.

"You sure about that?" she questioned as she ground her pelvis into him, feeling him start to harden against his will.

Mustering up all of his self-control, he pushed her off him by her shoulders, "_Yes._" he said firmly.

She huffed, groaning as she flopped onto her back beside him, staring up at the ceiling, "What is it?" Clint asked gently, all traces of previous excitement expelled.

"Nothing, they're—it's just the scar from the procedure Drakov did on me." She turned her head towards him, "That's all."

"You sure?"

"_Yes_, Clint. It was a pretty gruesome procedure. They cracked my skull open and dug into my brain tissue. Not exactly nice memories of post-op either." She admitted.

Clint turned to hug her, lacing his arm across her stomach and placing a light kiss on her shoulder, "I'm sorry, Nat." He grumbled.

"For what?" She asked, genuinely curious.

"For having put you through that."

Her brow wrinkled in confusion at his words. She'd never really stopped to think about how he felt about her blindness. Truthfully, she was a little angry that she heard a trace of guilt in his words, "That wasn't your fault, Clint. You didn't make that choice, I did." Natasha clarified.

"It wasn't much of a choice." He seemed to tell himself, "I had compromised you and you let them hurt you because of me."

"I did what I did to protect my partner—my _friend_." She emphasized.

He looked up at her, wondering, "And what are we now?"

The question hung in the air between them. He was surprised when she answered right away, "We're Clint and Natasha, just like we've always been."

"You always been in love with me?" He asked against her shoulder, "Or have you always been in denial up until a few hours ago?" His mouth curled into a boyish grin.

Natasha rolled onto her side so that she was now facing him. Her hand moved to gently caress his stubbled face, "I guess I just needed a little help to see what was right in front of me." Clint was mesmerized by the softness of her voice, of the softness of her face. Her normal porcelain skin was glowing and tinted pink. She wasn't normally that honest with him, with _anyone_. He relished in the feeling of being trusted, of being allowed to get a peek of the true Natasha Romanoff.

He leaned forward to capture her rosy lips in his, kissing her softly. His ears perked up at the sound of a repetitive brushing sound against the hardwood floor. Opening his eyes, he glanced past Natasha's shoulder and was met with the sight of a smiling Gus staring at the pair with a green tennis ball in his black and gold muzzle. Gus wagged his tail harder when he realized he'd succeeded in getting the human's attention before he jumped onto the bed and dropped the tennis ball in between them.

Clint and Natasha couldn't hold back their laughter. Clint grabbed the tennis ball, throwing it and watching Gus race off the bed to find it, "I think that cardio's gonna have to wait." Said Natasha, evidence of her laugh still on her face in the form of a toothy smile.

Leaning in, Clint whispered into her ear, "Not if you join me in the shower." He suggested.

Natasha bit her lip at the sensation of his hot breath on her earlobe, "You've got a deal, Clint Barton." She said as she gave him a quick peck on the lips before she untangled herself from the sheets and sauntered off into the bathroom.

Clint grinned at the sight of her walking away, butt naked and shameless before he did the same.

* * *

_**SHIELD Headquarters, Washington DC, three hours later**_

After another roll around in the shower, Natasha and Clint left the apartment beaming, with Gus more than happy to get a whiff of the fresh winter air. That was, until they found themselves in front of HQ. All reminders of the shitty reality they had managed to ignore for a few hours came crashing down on them as they walked through the building. Bobbi was still in a coma, they hardly had any leads, the council would be ramming them for answers pretty soon, and, most importantly, Madame Hydra was still at very much large.

Coulson knew that whatever issues the Clint and Natasha had before yesterday were completely absolved when the pair walked into the office smelling of the same shampoo.

"It's almost nine; where've you two been?" Coulson questioned.

"Brainstorming," Natasha replied, taking a seat by her computer, "Do you know if Wallace did any work on this?" She asked in reference to the program she'd been writing, changing the subject.

"He just stepped out, but I'm pretty sure he did. The fact that you can write programs has him swooning." Coulson said.

"What's that for, anyways?" Clint took a seat beside her, watching as she put the small comm into her ear for the text to speech audio. The file was long and complex with various numbers and symbols he didn't understand.

"I was researching earlier and I figured the mole had to be leaking information to Hydra directly. So I started writing this to filter through any signals coming out of SHIELD that are going to places they aren't supposed to." She began typing away at the keyboard, "The only problem is that it's taking fucking forever to write." Her brow wrinkled in frustration.

Clint grinned at her just as Agent Matt Wallace walked into the office with a half eaten Nutter Butter and a tiny pint of milk, "Agent Barton." He greeted cheerfully. Wallace was a young man of average height with medium build and scruffy hair. He smiled like a teenager and was truly one of the nicest people Natasha had ever met, "Oh, Agent Romanoff, Dr. Garcia told me she's been meaning to talk to you for the last, what is it, three days? Four? I dunno but she's itchin' to see you." Wallace said, taking a sip from his milk.

"Oh yea, she told me to remind you but, I, uh, _forgot_." Clint said quirking an eyebrow.

"I'm sure you had a good reason." She uttered just loud enough for him to hear.

"Go ahead, Natasha, Wallace can handle the coding. Right Wallace?" Coulson asked.

The young agent nodded his head furiously with a mouthful of Nutter Butter, "Yeah, totally."

Natasha stopped typing and contemplated her options. Deciding the Good Doctor wasn't going to stop pestering her until she went to see her, she decided on going sooner rather than later. Sighing she got up, "Be careful, Wallace, this thing is like a second Gus." She said, grabbing the dog's leash. Clint automatically got up to open the door and follow her, "Nuh-uh, Hawkeye," her finger poked his shoulder, "You're staying right here. One of us has to be productive. I'm sure Coulson has something for you to do."

She turned to leave and Clint looked to Coulson who simply smiled back at him, "Well, You've still got that mission report to fill out." With a groan, Clint snached chair and began typing away his report on one of the computers.

"Speaking of unproductive, where the hell is Botha?" Clint complained.

"He goes MIA for a few days then returns. He's been like that since we were at the academy." Wallace offered, "Not a very talkative guy, either."

"I haven't met anyone worth being very talkative with, Agent Wallace." The man in question said. Everyone turned around to see one other than Gert Botha looking unamused by the doorway.

Coughing, Coulson moved to steady the situation, "Gentlemen, I'm sure we can all find something to do. Wallace is helping to write the program, Clint is catching up on his procrastination. Botha, we've got some new codes we need your help deciphering."

Botha simply eyed Coulson with an affirmative look, but Clint could see the truth in the young agent's eyes. He swiveled his chair back and continued typing his mission report.

Meanwhile, Natasha and Gus made their journey all the way from the SHIELD offices to the medical wing that housed the research and development section, AKA Dr. Garcia's lair. After some asking around, Natasha found the Good Doctor in one of the larger development labs that smelled like strange gasses and filtered air, "Agent Romanoff! Ugh, my gosh, I've been looking everywhere for you!" Exclaimed the young doctor as Natasha walked into the lab.

"Well, here I am."

"Good, good, this is great! Let's talk in my office, shall we?" Natasha couldn't help but cringe a little at the excitement in Dr. Garcia's voice. She knew the doctor was eccentric, but this was too much.

Taking a seat in one of the presumably nice leather chairs in front of Dr. Garcia's desk, Natasha gave her a bored look, "So, why am I here, Doctor?" She asked, hearing the doctor pull open drawers in search of something.

"This right here." She said as she placed a thin tube in Natasha's hand, "They're microscopic nanobots that are bioadaptable. Basically, we inject them and they flow through the system. They find damage and repair it. In your case, with the tech in you, they would destroy only as much of it as necessary to recover brain mass that would allow you to see." Natasha felt the glass tube in her hand, unsure of what to say, "Agent Romanoff," the doctor said with a hint of a hopeful smirk on her lips, "There's a strong possibility you'll be able to see again."

Natasha was at a loss. Her eyes darted back and forth, mind racing and heart fluttering with excitement at the possibility of being able to _see_ again. She licked her lips, trying not to let herself get her hopes up, "How sure can you be?" She asked, wrinkling her brow in curiosity.

"Well, as you know, brain cells are very rarely replaced. So, once you lose 'em, they're pretty much gone forever, right?" Dr. Garcia moved behind her desk and pulled out data sheets, "Well, wrong, if you have SHIELD funding." She placed some of the sheets in Natasha's lap, "Some of them are in braille, the important ones at least." She took back the glass tube and watched Natasha skim her fingers over the raised lettering, "So, the nanobots have shown to function as brain cells, adapting and gaining the ability to pass neural impulses efficiently. They've shown results in improving reflexes, memory, and spatial awareness. Now, in terms of regaining vision after brain damage, only one in seven test subject recovered their vision fully." Natasha clenched her jaw as the Doctor proceeded, "That doesn't mean you'll be one of the other six."

"It doesn't leave much room for hope though." The agent replied.

Dr. Garcia gave Natasha a pensive look, "We could try to increase your chances…" she trailed off.

"How?" Natasha asked immediately.

"The antidote we gave Agents Barton and Morse could lessen any accidental damage the nanobots would do to your system, given your medical history. That, and the chemical allows for adaptation of foreign bodies like the nanobots." She hesitated, "Agent Romanoff, it'll be a painful process, but there's a chance it'll work." Natasha stared straight ahead, lips pensively pressed into a firm line.

"Do it." Her voice was firm and unafraid.

Dr. Garcia was slightly taken aback by the agent's rapid decisiveness, but decided against questioning it, "Okay, alright. It's what? Like nine o'clock?" She asked herself, glancing at her watch, "So that means I can be ready to with all the materials by a little after twelve." Natasha tried not to let the surprise show on her face at the fact that it would be done soon, and fast. Noticing the expression, Dr. Garcia smirked proudly, "I know right? SHIELD funding, the best." She walked behind her desk and typed in reminders to her computer, "I'll give you a call when you can come in, but you'll need to answer that phone of yours."

"Sure thing." Natasha stood and moved to leave but hesitated at the doorway, "Dr. Garcia," again, the words caught in her throat, "thanks."

Noding, the doctor replied, "It's what we do, Agent." Natasha returned the gesture and walked out of the office, the Good Doctor's words echoing in her mind.

* * *

_**SHIELD Mess Hall, two hours later,**_

"Are you serious? Nat, that's great!" Clint couldn't contain his excitement as he tried to process what she'd just said. His mind was doing somersaults, especially after his big lunch after being cooped up with "The Dream Team" for over two hours since Natasha had disappeared. He had to admit, he was a little irritated that she'd disappeared for so long, but that was all forgiven now.

Natasha couldn't hide the tiny smile that tugged at the edge of her lips, "Contain yourself, Agent Barton. You're making a scene." She said as they continued walking out of the mess hall. She'd left Gus with Coulson since Wallace hardly talked when he was working and Botha had turned into more of a sour puss since she last saw him. That, and Coulson loved dogs.

She let herself be guided by Clint, gently holding on to his elbow and staying one step behind him. Natasha was still weary about where she wore her glasses. She only wore them when they left the office, Clint had noticed, but that was no longer going to matter.

"Okay, so Dr. Garcia injects the nanobots, they find the problem, and try to fix it?" Clint asked as they rounded a corner.

"Basically. We didn't get too much into the tiny details."

He gave her a questioning look, "So then, why were you hiding for so long?"

Natasha's face remained neutral, "No where, just out and about. Fresh air, outside and stuff." She replied curtly.

"_Nat_…" He said with a hint of warning. One thing that no one would ever change about Natasha Romanoff were her incessant need to hide even the most mundane details of her life.

"Ugh, Clint, I did actually go outside for some fresh air. I just went for a walk with Gus." She huffed in annoyance, "It was just a little overwhelming, I guess. I've been like this for over five years and the fact that I could see again by tomorrow was...I don't know, a little terrifying." Clint accepted her honest answer. He was one of the few people who could tell when she was lying and when she was being truthful, "That and I couldn't stop thinking about all the money I spent on training Gus. Guide dogs are not cheap, Barton." She said jokingly.

"Yeah, well afterward you can always rely on him to get you a beer from the fridge or fetch the remote when you're too lazy to get up." Her lips curled into a tiny smile.

"Yeah because I have so much time on my hands." They boarded the elevator to return to the office that was nine floors above the mess hall, "Speaking of time, did you guys do anything productive while I was gone?"

"Actually, we did." Clint replied proudly, "While Botha was busy scowling in his chair, Wallace got the program running. It'll take a while for it to sift through all the signals coming in and out of SHIELD so we won't have any answers just yet."

"He programmed it to track any signals going to known and suspected Hydra facilities right?"

"Yes, Natasha, he did."

"And what about scanning on out of date frequencies?"

"Included those in there, too."

"And did he finish the detailing on the encryption so that they wouldn't know we were looking?"

"I think so but—"

"What about FM? That's super low tech but—"

"Nat!" Clint finally said, halting her barrage of questions, "It's good, the program, Wallace did good, it's fine." The elevator pinged announcing their arrival, "He made sure to include everything on that long list of yours and I made him double check the writing." Clint assured her as they stepped out. Natasha simply gave him a slight nod, "We're gonna be okay, Nat. We're gonna find them, you, me, Coulson, Wallace, even Botha, we'll all catch them." HIs voice became soft as they walked through the quiet hall and towards their secured office.

"I know," she clenched her jaw, taking in a calming breath through her nostrils, "We'll get her. You're right, it'll be okay." She nodded, reassuring her paranoid mind above everything else.

Clint scanned his print at the door and was almost knocked over by Botha who all but flew past them on his way out of the office, "Hey Botha, you okay?" Called Clint as the agents walked briskly down the hall.

"Fine," Botha called over his shoulder, "Just gonna take a leak."

Clint gave him a quizzical look before he and Natasha walked through the door, "Agent Romanoff!" Said an enthusiastic Agent Wallace, "I got your second Gus working. She's running smoothly, just scannin' through frequencies and doing her thing." She said with a smirk.

"Great, thanks, Wallace, I know it was a pain to finish." She replied.

"Hopefully it gives us what we need and soon." Said Coulson who was sitting in a swivel chair and rubbing Gus's belly before the dog got up and went to greet his human, "He's good company. I'm considering getting one."

"Make sure you get one that can easily be bathed." Said Clint.

Natasha took a seat and gently petted Gus's soft fur, "Dr. Garcia said there's a chance I'll be able to see again." She announced.

Coulson and Wallace didn't hide their surprise, "Wow, that's great, Natasha. How does she figure?"

"Nanobots that'll go in to repair the damage." She answered, leaving out the part about them being untested in humans and the one in seven chance of it actually working. Although she assumed he'd eventually ask the Good Doctor those questions himself, "She said she'll call me when she's ready to do the procedure, which could be today around noon."

Coulson glanced at his wristwatch, "It's past eleven." He stated, "They sure don't waste any time down in medical."

"It's what they do." She said softly, scratching behind Gus's ears. Her phone buzzed in her pocket as the comm in her ear read the caller ID to her, "Speak of the Doctor," She said as she pulled out her cell, "Romanoff."

* * *

_**SHIELD Medical, an hour later**_

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't scared. Actually, she was pretty fucking terrified. It was moments like these that Natasha was grateful for her blindness, since it prevented her from seeing the quite possibly large needles on the tray next to her. After she got the call, she, Coulson, and Clint went down to Medical where she was ushered away, sterilized, undressed, and put into what she imagined was a blue flowery hospital gown. Shortly after, a nurse came by with a tablet and had her scan her palm print to consent to the procedure. Another half an hour later, she bid Coulson and Clint temporary farewells as she was rolled into the operating room and coaxed onto a table.

Which is why she was now lying on her back as nurses placed wires on her chest, head, and other extremities. She tried to regulate her breathing to prevent the monitors from picking up any signs of stress, but ultimately failed. The stoic and indefinitely mute nurses didn't help either. They touched and poked her without telling her, which made her flinch on occasion. It wasn't until the Good Doctor herself showed up that they gained a little more competence, "How are ya feeling, Agent?" She asked as she calibrated the ECG.

"Super. I mean who doesn't like being poked and prodded by nurses who don't know how to treat a blind patient?" She asked sarcastically.

Dr. Garcia glared at the nurses who went about their business as if the Agent had said nothing, "Hopefully you'll never face that problem again." She said, motioning for the anesthesiologist to come forward, "Natasha," she leaned in, "We're gonna put you under for the procedure. Dr. Patel here is gonna administer the anesthesia. It'll keep you unconscious for what we anticipate to be the most uncomfortable bit of the procedure." Natasha nodded in understanding, "Your medical history shows a negative reaction to sedatives so, for our safety and your own, I'm gonna strap your ankles and wrists down."

Natasha couldn't hide the spike in heart rate at the mention of restraints. It was bringing back flashbacks of some of her darkest memories, "Okay." She tried to reply firmly but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.

"It'll be okay, Natasha. You'll be okay, I'm gonna make sure of that." The agent licked her lips and nodded, "Okay then, Dr. Patel is gonna put the mask over your face to administer the anesthesia."

Natasha took in calming breaths and nodded once more before she felt the soft plastic edges of the mask around her nose and mouth, "Alright, Agent, I'm gonna need you to count backwards from a hundred." Said Dr. Patel's smooth voice.

Natasha involuntarily gripped the edge of the medical table until her knuckles turned white, "One hundred," she firmly shut her eyes, "ninety-nine" she could feel her heart beating through her rib cage, "ninety-eight," her voice began to fade, "ninety-seven," her words began to slur together, "ninety-six," her features began to relax, "ninety-five," she stopped gripping the table, "ninety-four." Her mind went blank.

* * *

After an argument with the head nurse and permission from the the Good Doctor, Clint and Coulson were allowed to monitor the procedure from behind the observation glass above the room.

Clint paced back and forth after Natasha was put under, watching the nurses inject the liquid that had healed him into her bloodstream. The monitors spiked momentarily as Natasha's body arched slightly before relaxing. Normal. They brushed it off as a normal reaction to the chemical before pulling out the big guns.

The nurses turned Natasha on her side and opened up the back of her gown, and sterilizing the area on the small of her back. The young nurse doing it flinched at the sight of obvious old scarring that littered the young agent's back, but immediately shook it off. Another nurse gave Dr. Garcia an imposing needle filled with a silvery substance, "Injecting the nanobots now." She announced, more for Coulson and Clint's sake.

Clint visibly cringed at the sound of the needle sliding into the soft tissue of Natasha's spine. He questioned as to why SHIELD would install high quality surround sound into the observation room.

Dr. Garcia carefully pressed on the plunger of the needle, emptying its contents. Ever so gently, she slid it out of the sensitive spinal tissue and motioned to the nurses to restrain the unconscious agent.

For a moment, nothing happened, then something did. Natasha's body stiffened as her arms flexed to break free of the restraints. Her face contorted in pain as her back arched and she let out a strangled gasp. The monitors began to spike and flash red, signaling danger. Nurses moved to inject calming agents into her IV. Natasha's eyes screwed shut as an overwhelming pulsing sensation took hold of her head. She stifled a cry of pain as the sensation started to bring her back to consciousness, "Inject more sedative!" Urged Dr. Garcia, fearing the pain would kill her. Clint and Coulson held their breaths as they watched the scene play out.

The agent grit her teeth in agony as her body began to sweat. The temperature in the room seemed to have sky rocketed and the air became too thick to breathe; her lungs couldn't take in enough oxygen. The muffled sounds of frantic beeping and startled voices began to clear as she became more and more aware. The pain intensified with each passing second and oh _God _she was losing her grip. She tugged at the restraints until she couldn't feel her hands or feet. She grit her teeth until the high pitched pressure of them grinding into each other filled her ears. Involuntary tears collected at the rims of her eyes.

Then it all stopped.

Natasha collapsed onto the operating table, chest still rising and falling with exertion. The heart monitors calmed, her body began to relax, and her mind began pulling back.

She swore she saw a glimmer of light before she passed out again, grateful for the calmness that overcame her.

* * *

**Bet you didn't see that coming! (bad pun intended). **

**Review!**


	13. In Plain Sight

**Aw hell, sorry for the late update you guys. I saw Maze Runner and Gone Girl yesterday and I just could not focus on anything else. Those movies were totally awesome and...wow. **

**Anyways, thanks to sailorraven34, JWolf28, Chardineno, techtchr, beverlie4055 , and Guest for reviewing! As to the comment on my spelling errors: I'm dyslexic so proofreading stuff drives me nuts. I've been to lazy to look for a beta so any mistakes can be attributed to my laziness. **

**Hope you guys like this chapter. I think it's longer than chapter 11 (and for good reason...)**

**Disclaimer**** in chapter 1**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Natasha felt like shit.

The nurses had wrapped her eyes in thick white gauze after the procedure as to not strain them while they recovered. She was going to have to wear it until the brain scans showed a decent level of healing. She could tolerate the gauze, the bed rest, and even Clint's round the clock watch, but what she absolutely could not tolerate was the nausea. The Good Doctor hadn't anticipated the nanobots work so well as to try to fix _everything, _including damage done to her during her Soviet days. Dr. Garcia informed Natasha that the nausea was due to the hormone surge throughout her body as the nanobots tried to fix most every problem she had. Elevated levels of estrogen and HGH gave her pregnancy like symptoms that had her moody and sensitive for the first day after she woke up, not to mention moderate cramping.

Which was why she was now doubled over a toilet bowl with Clint holding her hair back as she dry heaved into it. All her nutrition was coming from an IV so her stomach had nothing to give.

"Jeez, Nat, how long did they say this would last?" He asked as he helped her up towards the sink.

She rinsed out her mouth and felt around for her toothbrush and paste, "Garcia said it was just a reaction to the nanobots. It should wear off soon." She replied as she brushed the taste of bile out of her mouth.

"It's been almost three days." He stated, "Maybe something's wrong. She should do another scan. What if it's damaging your body? Or what if it's poisoning you? That's possible cuz you keep throwing up and—" he was cut off when Natasha turned around to hug him. He froze for a second, momentarily shocked before he relaxed and wrapped his arms around her, sighing, "I'm just worried, Nat."

"I know," Natasha mumbled. With her ear over his chest, she listened intently to the sound of his heart beating in his chest, "Dr. Garcia should be around soon to take me for another exam." Clint's warm chest gently expanded with each breath he took, "You should go home, take a shower, eat." She suggested, "Maybe even check up on Bobbi." Clint clenched his jaw slightly. In truth, he constantly scolded himself for neglecting to go see her. Maybe Natasha was right, "I'll be fine, Clint."

He rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her cherry-blossom shampoo, "Okay." He uttered, "But I won't be gone long." He felt her smile against his chest.

"Just make sure you shower properly. You smell worse than Gus." She replied, pulling back and allowing him to guide her back to her cot, "Also, can you check up on the guys? I haven't heard from either of them and I want to know how things are coming along."

"Always focused on the job at hand." Clint remarked, "I'll ask." He leaned over towards Natasha, who had finished tucking herself in, and placed a small kiss on her lips, "I'll see you soon." She smiled at him and nodded.

Her smile lingered, even after Clint left. Natasha imagined she must've looked like a lovesick teenager, grinning foolishly to herself. That was the side of her that Clint always managed to bring out, a side of her she didn't know existed. He made her feel like a _girl_, like a person capable of incredible affection. He made her feel safe when she was vulnerable and Natasha loved that feeling. _'Maybe this is what it's like to be a child,'_ she thought.

A gentle knock on the doorframe caught her attention, "How are you feeling, Agent Romanoff?" Asked Dr. Garcia.

"Better than yesterday, I suppose. The nausea is starting to go away." Natasha answered honestly. Her nausea really was fading. She'd only puked twice today compared to the eight times yesterday and ten times on the day before that.

She heard Dr. Garcia scribble away on the clipboard at the foot of the bed, "That's good. I've moved up your brain scan to, well now. I wanna see how fast you're progressing." The doctor moved towards Natasha's IV and adjusted the dose, "If the results are good enough, you might be able to remove that bandage by the end of the day." Natasha's heart fluttered at the thought of being able to see so soon, "Is it okay if I call nurses in to move you?" Asked Dr. Garcia.

"Of course." Natasha replied.

The doctor gestured for the nurses to enter and smiled at Natasha, "I'll see you in a bit."

The agent simply nodded, too caught up on her thoughts to do much else. Taking in a steady breath, she allowed a nurse to move her into a wheelchair without protest.

* * *

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Clint returned to HQ clean and fresh. True to his words, he pressed the button on the elevator to the office floor where the "Dream Team" was cooped up. Upon entering the office, his nostrils were greeted with the smell of Red Bull and potato chips, "Evenin' fellas."

Wallace waved at him and resumed eating his bag of potato chips. Coulson was busy playing with Gus whereas Botha, unsurprisingly, was no where to be found, "I see you finally decided to grace us with your presence, Agent Barton." Said Coulson.

"Yeah, well I figured you guys were in need of my keen observation skills." Clint replied as he took a seat and leaned back on the swivel chair, "How are things coming along?" He asked.

"Agent Romanoff's program should come up with something very soon. It's almost done processing nearly all the signals." Answered Wallace, "Did you know over two million signals head in and out of this building everyday?"

"That's hardly surprising given SHIELD's level of worldly presence." Clint said, "Botha?" He asked, noting the intel officer's absence.

"MIA, again," replied Wallace, "Honestly, I don't know how that guy managed to become one of the top Intel Officers here." he said annoyingly.

"What's his deal, anyway? You two went to the Academy together, right?" Clint questioned.

"Yeah, but like I said before, he's never really been talkative. All I really know about him is from all the talk I hear."

"Such as…?" It was Coulson who asked this time.

"Well," Wallace began, "They say he was picked up from a warzone somewhere in South Africa when he was a kid. Both his parents were killed by mafiosos there but if you ask me, I think it was really Hydra." He replied.

"How come?" Coulson asked again.

"He's the lead guy on most of the projects involving Hydra and he's always pretty grumpy when there aren't any leads," Wallace took a sip from his Red Bull, "Like right now."

Clint pondered over the young agent's words. The story certainly explained Botha's behavior but it still irked Clint to no end, "Well he also doesn't really help by being MIA so often," he said as he got up from his chair, "I've got someone I need to see, but I'll try to get back as soon as I can to help you guys."

"We've got things covered here," Coulson said, "take your time with Natasha."

"She's having another one of those lengthy brain scans right now," Clint gently ruffled Gus's fur before moving to exit, "It's Bobbi I've gotta go see." The archer said, without looking back, as he left the office.

* * *

Clint had walked briskly through the halls of SHIELD HQ only to have his steps falter as he finally reached the medical wing. He stopped in front of the open door leading into Bobbi's room. Carefully, he stepped inside, slightly afraid he'd wake her if he was too loud. Taking a seat by her bed, Clint stared tentatively at her. She looked fine, aside from the obvious signs of sickness on her face. The nurse said Bobbi was running a light fever but she was slowly improving. Clint clenched his jaw in guilt. It had been over a week since he'd last seen Bobbi. He'd actually almost forgotten about her. A week was all it took for him to brush aside almost five years of friendship and a year of marriage.

He wondered if that was why they'd never work out. Before Natasha reappeared, he still hadn't fully purged her from his mind. He'd known Natasha for five years and mourned her for that amount of time, too.

But he didn't regret marrying Bobbi. No, Bobbi, truthfully, made him grow up a little. She helped him truly grow as a person and be a better agent—a better man. For that he would be forever grateful. Sighing, Clint reached over and squeezed her hand, "Get well, Bobbi." He uttered before he stood up and gently kissed her forehead, exiting without another word.

* * *

"So what's the verdict?" Natasha asked. She heard Clint shift slightly in his chair as Dr. Garcia pulled up a monitor and displayed the brain scan from earlier. He'd arrived only minutes after her brain scan and waited alongside her for Dr. Garcia to announce the results.

"Well, if we focus here," she motioned her pinky over a colorful sagittal cross section of Natasha's brain, "the mass of the device has gone down in the areas that invaded the frontal lobe. We did an EEG and found increased neural firing and cerebral activity." She smiled at the two agents, "We can remove the gauze now if you want."

Natasha's mouth parted slightly in surprise and she nodded firmly. Her hand found Clint's and she squeezed his hand gently, almost fearfully. The doctor pulled a pair of scissors from a cabinet and walked over the Natasha.

Clint felt her grip tighten on his hand as the Doctor put the scissor's blade under the fabric. Natasha mentally cursed the dexterity with which Dr. Garcia chose to cut the cloth. It was like that pause before the gun went off to start a race. Her muscles were frozen in anticipation as she heard the gentle snipping of the fabric being cut away. Natasha's eyes were closed under the gauze; her breath stuttered as she slowly opened her eyes, blinking to clear her vision.

Her _vision_.

Natasha's heart fluttered. She looked around the very dimly lit room, taking in the blue and white colors of the furniture. She noted the small pink flowery design that stretched the room's perimeter at the top of each wall. Then her eyes found Clint. She reached out tentatively, unblinking, as of afraid her vision would fade to black if she closed her eyes. She took in every detail of his thirty-three year old face. His blond spiky hair was tousled, light stubble littered his chin and cheeks. His eyes were as blue as ever. He looked at her with anticipation, a smile tugging at his lips when her eyes found his, "_Clint_." She uttered in disbelief, smiling and taking his face in her palms. Quickly, and without care of who saw, Natasha placed a firm kiss on his lips, smiling like she'd never smiled before as she pulled him into a hug.

Clint's arms immediately embraced her joyful frame. After a moment, Natasha pulled back, holding his face in her palms again as her eyes darted back and forth between every one of his features before looking over at the doctor that made it all possible.

Dr. Garcia, Natasha learned, did not in fact look like the person she'd made up in her mind. The young woman had dark skin, looking closer to Natasha's own age than she'd originally imagined. Light freckles peppered her cheeks; thin glasses covered her brown eyes as she radiantly smiled at the agent, a hint of pride in its upturn. Natasha didn't hesitate to hug the young woman. Startled at first, the Good Doctor relaxed and returned the gesture. She felt Natasha's grip tighten momentarily, "Thank you." Natasha uttered just loud enough for Dr. Garcia to hear.

Natasha pulled back and found herself wiping away droplets of water that had gathered at the rim of her eyelids, threatening to spill over. She smiled at Clint, letting out a small chuckle of disbelief, "How is it?" Asked Dr. Garcia.

Natasha's eyes didn't leave Clint's face as she took his hand in hers, "Good. Clear, everything's clear." After a quick examination and assessment, the Good Doctor quietly excused herself, leaving the two agents to stare endlessly at each other.

"God, Clint." Natasha's voice was barely above a whisper. Her hand gently caressed his cheek, "I can see you; I _see _you." She said, still unable to believe what was right in front of her.

He smiled from ear to ear, chuckling and leaning into her hand, "We need to add _Avatar_ to our list of movies to watch." Her eyes looked healthy, _normal _again.

"I can watch movies again, Clint, I can read, I can walk without a guide." She said, smile widening with each thought. She was back; she'd no longer have to rely on others. Natasha suddenly felt more comfortable in her own skin. For the first time in five years, she felt like herself again.

"Easy there, tiger, one thing at a time. Maybe—"

"Break me out of here." She interrupted suddenly, eyes glistening with mischief.

"Natasha," He said warningly.

"Oh come on, Clint. I'm _fine_." She argued, "They'll only want to keep me here for observation."

Clint eyed her, considering her offer before unconsciously mimicking her mischievous smirk, "Exit strategy?" He quipped. She casually rolled her eyes, letting them linger on the ceiling before catching his again, "Seriously? The _vents_, Nat."

"Seriously. Come on," She said, jumping off the bed. She ignored the slight dizziness that hit her from standing too quickly, "Gimme a boost." Clint compiled, more than happy to trail behind her while she still wore nothing but her undergarments under her blue and white hospital gown. Quickly, he helped her up and took the pile of clothes that she'd been wearing a few days ago from a table by the window. He couldn't help but wonder if this was what it felt like to be a teenager, sneaking out of mom and dad's house to go to a party that served alcohol and reeked of raging teenage hormones. Nonetheless, he followed close behind Natasha, and could've sworn he heard an exasperated sigh followed by a "Seriously?" from one of the nurses as he gently pulled the cover over the ventilation shaft.

* * *

They decided on stopping by her apartment to pick up spare clothes and some food for Gus after Clint had helped aid in Natasha's escape.

What was supposed to be a quick pit stop turned into something much longer when Natasha all but jumped Clint as soon as he shut the door to her apartment. Her lips smashed into his, kissing him roughly and hungrily. He felt her hands immediately tug away at his jacket then his shirt as she slammed into him, pinning him to the door. Clint would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy this side of Natasha: the side of her that made damn sure she got what she wanted—_craved_. He also didn't mind the way her fingers curled around the hair on the back of his head and tugged possessively.

Natasha kissed and nipped at his neck, before her lips found his ear, "Bed, _now_." Her hot breath made his knees weak while her hungry voice urged him on.

"Yes, ma'am." He said before taking her lips again. His hand found the small of her back as she hoisted her toned legs around his hips.

Natasha's mind was delirious. Never had she ever desired anything or anyone more than she desired Clint in that very moment. The hunger gnawed at her from deep inside and increased with each passing moment. Maybe it was that surge of hormones from the procedure taking over but at this point, Natasha didn't care anymore. She bounced lightly as they landed on the bed. Clint began to kiss and bite the soft flesh on her neck and shoulders, eliciting a deep moan from her throat. Natasha's hands fumbled with Clint's belt buckle before he gripped her wrists and pinned them above her head. The bastard was gonna make her wait, drag it out until she was squirming beneath him. Natasha's hips bucked against him and she felt him grin against her skin, "You're an ass." She complained breathlessly.

"I know." He whispered against her skin, pulling her shirt over her head and unclipping her bra, tossing it aside. Clint kissed her lips and trailed down her neck, ravishing the taste of her breasts and warm skin. He bruised her skin in the most pleasurable way, breathing in her familiar sweet scent. Slowly and with the patience of a thousand junior SHIELD agent instructors, Clint peeled off her pants and underwear. He heard her moan in anticipation as she brought his face towards hers and embraced his lips. His hands ran firmly along the toned flesh of her strong and deadly thighs.

Natasha's breathing hitched when she felt the rough fabric of his jeans rub against her. In a sudden movement, she gripped his hips between her thighs and flipped him under her, catching his playful grin in the process. Natasha's eyes wandered and admired the sight of Clint, her eyes glistened with lust and desire. She'd had known how great Clint had felt before, but _damn_ did he look great, too. His muscles quivered under her touch as she kissed his chest and all but ripped away what few articles of clothing he had left, "Too many clothes," she breathed against his skin. Clint chuckled, and had tried to help her but she swatted his hands away, grinning at him before she kissed the skin around him, trailing up his muscled abdomen, over his light scars and toned chest, and roughly taking his lips to hers, nibbling on his bottom lip as his fingers left light red markings all across her back. They were as close as humanly possible; Natasha pressed further into him, allowing every inch of herself to meet his.

Clint shuttered at the feeling of her moist center against his naked length. She was dripping and more than ready for him. Natasha didn't hesitate to reach between them and poise him at her entrance, before coming down on him, gasping in pleasure. Their bodies moved in rapid breaths, catching onto a familiar rhythm. Clint's hands snaked up her hips and gripped her glorious breasts firmly as she rode him. His hips began to buck against hers, needing to move faster.

Clint took Natasha's wrists, which were gripping on to the headboard for support, and flipped her under him, eliciting a playful smirk from her rosy red lips. Natasha moaned as he resumed thrusting into her, harder and faster than before, more desperate. His strong hands still held her wrists above her head; Clint bit and hungrily kissed the flesh on her neck, surely leaving passionate bruises. His actions were possessive, almost animalistic in nature. Natasha found herself loving it.

The sensation was overwhelming. Her taut breasts against his chest, her shuttered breathing and moans in his ears, all was enough to send Clint over the brink. Natasha couldn't help but focus on the feel of his teeth on her neck and his strong hands pinning her to the bed and how his every touch had her reeling. She didn't hold back the cry of pleasure that fell from her throat as she climaxed or his name as it fell from her gasping lips. Clint grunted and huffed with exertion as his pace quickened, thrusting a little longer before he released himself inside her.

He held himself over her, gazing at the lingering excitement on her face and parted lips. Staring into her dark green eyes, Clint reached down and kissed her. The roughness now gone, his tongue ran gently across her bottom lip before she parted them for him. His tender hand cupped her cheek, refusing to let her go. Her skin was hot and tinted with perspiration, he noticed, as his bare chest fully met hers, rising and falling with exhaustion. Clint rolled onto his side, never letting go of Natasha, as her legs wrapped around his waist again, rendering him immobile. They drew back for much needed breath and settled for resting their foreheads against each other. Clint closed his eyes and embraced the silence that filled the apartment, save for Natasha's gentle breathing.

She moved her hand from under his now loose grasp and gently ran her fingers through his damp blond hair, all traces of previous ardor fading away. The pair lay together in the stillness for a long moment. Natasha looked past him at the dark ceiling, noting that night had begun to fall during their passionate haze. The way time seemed to fly when she was with him didn't escape her thoughts. Her eyes wandered around the room, taking in the details, "My apartment is hideous." Natasha commented, having seen the lack of color and lighting in her living quarters.

Clint smiled next to her as he peeled open his eyes to give her an amused look, the fading sunlight reflecting off his toothy grin, "That's what happens when a blind woman does the interior decorating." He brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Natasha smiled intently, leaning into his touch and pulling him closer to kiss him once again, "We should...get...back...to SHIELD." He managed to say in between kisses.

"Mmhmm." She buzzed against his lips, pulling him into her when he tried to pull back. Natasha turned them over so she was laying on top of him again. Letting her last kiss linger on his lips, Natasha allowed her ear rest against his chest as his arms wrapped around to hug her naked form closer to his. Clint noted her sudden deflation at the memory of the world outside of her apartment. It felt like a home when he was there with her and he hated having to leave that comfort behind, hated how _she _hated having to leave it behind because it was a feeling like no other to find a place to belong, and to find someone with whom to belong with. His bare chest caught the sensation of her gentle heart beat and warm breath, "Five more minutes." Natasha uttered. Clint didn't respond, settling for holding her just a little bit longer before diving back into reality.

* * *

Having finally pulled themselves together, and avoiding any further sweaty activities, Natasha and Clint snuck back into SHIELD HQ, taking their time walking through the halls back to the office, "You never told me if you checked up on the Dream Team." Natasha commented as she still held on to Clint's elbow, more out of habit than necessity. Her eyes wandered as they walked, taking in the details of the building, which to her surprise, had been renovated since the last time she saw it. Thankfully, the walls were no longer that ugly shade of gray they'd been five years ago, but now, a hopeful tint of blue.

"Oh yeah. Wallace said the program should be done very soon. He was with Coulson last time I saw them, sifting through some data."

"Hopefully it's done by the time we get back to the office." She said. A thought crossed her mind, "I'm thinking about keeping up this whole blindness thing for a bit just to mess with them. What do you think?"

"I think you're having a little too much fun with this." He smirked at her as they rounded a corner, "And I like it."

The pair kept walking until they encountered none other than Assistant Director Hill coming towards them, waking in a hurry, as usual, "Hey Barton," she called from down the hall, "Fury wants to see you. Come with me." She said, walking past him and acknowledging Natasha with a curt nod, "I heard. Congratulations, Agent Romanoff." Natasha returned the nod and uttered a thank you, "Come on, Barton." Hill reminded.

Clint turned to Natasha, giving her an apologetic look. She pulled him towards her by the collar when Hill was far enough away, pecking him on the lips, "Make it up later." She whispered, letting him go and turning on her heel towards the elevator. Clint smirked and broke into a light jog to catch up to Hill who was walking in the opposite direction.

The elevator ride to the office gave Natasha time to evaluate her plan of attack. She slipped her black sunglasses over her eyes and considered the length of this charade before settling on just one day since they really did need to get work done. Hearing the familiar _ding_ of the elevator, the agent walked out and towards the office.

"Agent Romanoff," said Wallace in surprise, "We thought you were still down in medical." Natasha stretched her hand out as if looking for a seat, taking one opposite behind the young agent. Wallace, was exactly as Natasha had envisioned. His hair was slightly more fluffy than she thought, and red, to her surprise, but her predictions were otherwise spot on.

"I'd rather not talk about it," she said. Her eyes glanced over at Botha, whose back was to them, as he scribbled away on a board, occasionally glancing over at the large monitor in front of Wallace that showed the running program. She noticed Botha to be a fairly average man with a fair skin and round hands. He wore a suit jacket that made him look like those people that hung out at coffee shops for the free wi-fi. He also had a shaved head which which slightly startled Natasha. She turned her attention back to Wallace, "Where's Coulson?" She asked.

"He got a call from Fury and took Gus with him," he replied. Natasha mentally scolded herself for forgetting her dog's food. She'd have to make up for it later. The agent's were torn from their thoughts when the monitor in front of Wallace beeped. All three of them looked intently at the screen, watching as the program pulled a single wavelength and analyzed its contents. A grid of the US appeared, narrowing down in location as the signal was deciphered. It went from the US, to the east coast, to DC, to the Triskelion, to the inner walls of each flood. It showed heat signatures of various agents inside the building before zeroing in on their floor. The screen showed the heat signature of the three agents in the room, before locking onto one form.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. The feed was live and as she got up, so did the scope on the screen zeroing in on the origin of the signal.

It was _her_.

She stared at the monitor, confused. Wallace glanced at her from his chair. Natasha looked at him, then at Botha. By the time she registered the movements, she was too late to react. Botha pulled out a gun and shot Wallace in the leg. The young agent cried out, falling from his chair into a painful heap. Natasha was about to attack when Botha aimed the gun at her, eyes cold as steel, "Don't move." He ordered firmly, voice suddenly slipping into an accent. Natasha held her position, eyeing him intently though her glasses, "You can take them off. I know you can see me."

She clenched her jaw, slowly reaching up and removing her glasses, "You're the mole." She stated.

"No, Agent Romanoff. _You_ are." He said, "You may've gotten your vision back but you're as blind as ever." His grip tightened on his gun as he circled Natasha, forcing her to move with him until she was backed up against the monitor. She snuck a glance at Wallace who was clutching his leg in agony on the floor to her right.

"What are you talking about," she demanded.

"That tech in you had a built in microphone. Anything you heard was recorded and sent to Hydra." He smirked, eyeing her up and down, "Good to know you and Barton are getting along again." Natasha narrowed her eyes at the man in front of her grinning suggestively at her, "My job was to make sure the recordings were transmitted effectively. That was, until that procedure you had destroyed the microphones. But the data is still in there, and it's steaming as we speak." He glanced down at his watch. Natasha didn't hesitate to take advantage of his distraction. One habit she was sure she'd never break was that of hiding weapons on herself to be accessed during moments where she was under duress. Now was one of those moments.

Pulling a knife from her hair bun, she threw it at Botha with such accuracy she questioned if she'd truly ever lost her vision. Knocking the gun from his hand, Natasha tackled him to the ground. For a guy with such a proud smug on his face only minutes earlier, Botha was hardly well vested in hand to hand combat. He was quickly subdued under Natasha's superior skills. He ended up on the ground face down with his arm twisted behind his back and Natasha's knee digging to his spine. Blood trickled down the corner of his mouth from where she'd slugged him. She tugged at his arm and leaned into him, "Talk." She hissed.

Botha grunted through gritted teeth before making a sound she guessed was supposed to be laughter, "You're too late, Romanov. You're too slow. Years ago, the Black Widow would've figured things out easily. No longer the legend yah used to be, eh?" She dug her knee further into his spine.

"What is Hydra planning? What's her end game? Why is she doing this, why now?" Natasha demanded harshly.

"Why does she do anything?" He retorted, "She gets bored from time to time, the woman That, and you really pissed her off when you killed her lead researcher. Drakov was of value, believe it or not."

"Why are you working for them, Botha? What've you got to gain?" Her grip on his arm lessened but was still firm.

"It's a family business. My father is one of her top agents. I'm loyal to those who help me." He replied with a smirk. Natasha heard him grunt followed by a crack, "Hail Hydra." He hissed.

"Shit!" Natasha cursed, releasing him and turning him over, gripping him firmly by the collar of his jacket. His mouth filled with green foam as his eyes rolled back into his head. _Cyanide_. Weird cyanide judging from the color of the foam. Natasha growled in frustration, shoving him back into the ground and running her fingers through her now loose hair. Quickly, she got up and pulled out her phone, walking towards Wallace who was now on the verge of passing out, "Hang on, Matt." She urged, dialing the extension to Medical, "They're on their way." Pressing onto the wound, Natasha winced as she felt his femur shift under the pressure. It was broken.

_Shit_.

Hauling up the near unconscious agent, she opened the door of the office just as a medical team burst from the elevator, "GSW to the thigh. Broken femur." She called as the readied the stretcher. Just as quickly as they came, the medical team disappeared. Natasha stood out in the hall, momentarily frozen before stealing a glance at the open office door. Botha's body still lay in a pitiful heap in the white tile ground strip under by a green pool of foam.

Hydra had been hiding right under her nose and she hadn't seen it, _'Literally and figuratively,_' she thought. Suddenly, the hall began to silently blink red before the florescent lights went out.

The silent alarm.

Panic filled Natasha's head as she bolted towards the stairs and began running up the steps, two at a time, towards Fury's office. Her hands managed to pull her cell phone from her pocket and dial Clint's number. _'Pick up, pick up, pick up!'_ She grew impatient with each passing ring before the line picked up, "Clint!" She said urgently.

_"I gave you a warning, Natalia. You wouldn't stay away so now it seems it's time to pay the price." _Natasha froze mid step. Her blood ran cold before boiling in anger at the recognition of that venomous voice_. "I'm afraid your lover is having a little trouble getting to the phone right now." _

"Only a coward hides behind his enemies' weakness." Natasha said, reminding Madame Hydra of the words she'd spoken decades ago, "Face me and we'll settle this once and for all."

Natasha practically heard Hydra smirk on the other line, _"You'd better hurry, I'm not sure your friends will last much longer in this office, cooped up with no ventilation to filter the gas they breathe in."_

Natasha breath hitched in her throat. They were being dosed with whatever Hydra had devilishly concocted as they spoke. Without another thought, Natasha resumed sprinting up the stairs, "You're gonna pay, Ophelia Sarkissian."

_"Come and get me, Natalia Romanova."_ She whispered before the line went dead. Natasha threw the phone aside, hearing it break and clatter behind her as she ascended the staircase.

Hydra wanted a fight, Natasha was damn sure gonna give her one.

* * *

**Wow, this turned out longer than I expected. I don't know if you guys noticed, but I'm dropping hints that could lead to a sequel for this fic. I'm still trying to decide on the plot for it but I'm not sure if I'm gonna commit to the hinted/possible sequel with school picking up for me and working part time. **

**Regardless, let me know what you guys think. **

**Any guesses as to the possible sequel...? :)**


	14. Oil and Water

**Disclaimer**** in chapter 1**

**Special thanks to Guest, JWolf28, sailorraven34, marvelsquint, and alwaysvesi for your reviews and thanks to all that followed/favorited.**

**I took some tiny ideas from one of the Black Widow comic runs from the early 2000's so those are not entirely mine. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Hydra hung up the phone and grinned maliciously. She motioned for two of her men to open the door to Fury's office. It slid open, hissing as the airtight seal was broken. Waking inside, the heels of her boots clicked against the hard floor. She glanced contemptuously at the three men inside, slumped and unconscious. To her surprise, a dog barked at her. It's leash was tied to the leg of Fury's bolted down desk, the dog whined and growled, trying to free itself to no avail.

"Cute." She deadpanned. Her eyes found Clint, who had fallen from his chair in front of the director, "Bring this one along." She pointed at Clint, "I want him to watch." The two men hauled him up, hooking their arms around his waist and dragging him out of the office.

"What about these two, Madame?" Asked a third man.

She waved them off and began to exit, "Leave them. By the time they wake it'll all be over." She paid no attention to the dog as he barked louder at them, watching as they left the office with his owners best companion.

* * *

Natasha climbed the eighteen flights of stairs at an unrelenting pace. Her muscles quaked and burned with exertion but her mind focused on one thing: find Hydra. Natasha mentally cursed herself, having been foolish enough to think that Hydra wouldn't target Clint so soon. Even more than that, she'd completely let Botha pass right under her nose. She truly was losing her edge; these were mistakes people made, but Natasha was never just a person, she was the Black Widow.

Natasha darted through a door to the floor that housed research and technology. At a glance, one would think it foolish of SHIELD to have an entire floor dedicated to...nothing. The space was barren and even free of any furniture. Not so much as a stool resided in that place.

Or so it appeared.

Years of experience had taught Natasha that SHIELD never did anything without a purpose. There was no elevator entrance and since no one ever took the stairs, few people knew about it. She walked the length of one of the walls, quietly counting her foot steps before she halted in front of a seemingly random spot. Turning on her heel, Natasha placed her palm flat against the wall. A moment later, a thin ray of red light scanned over her hand. She mentally praised the back up generators that powered these functions.

A low rumble emanated from the wall before it parted and slid open, revealing, in bright white light, the Black Widow suit. SHIELD always kept the suits of its retired or deceased assets on this secret floor. Whether the suits were keepsakes or evidence of an operative's alliance with the organization, Natasha didn't know and didn't want to know.

Quickly, she discarded her clothing, pulling the black suit over her skin and allowing for a small moment to readjust to its feel. The tough fabric melded over her form as if she'd only been gone for a day or two. Hesitating, she slipped the familiar dark belt around her waist, allowing the two halves to buckle together and form the familiar red hourglass on the belly of the black widow.

Newly empowered, Natasha steeled her gaze and resumed sprinting up the stairwell, never faltering in step until she cautiously turned the handle on the door leading to Fury's floor.

Everything was pitch black, except for that cyclical blinking red light that flashed in alarm on the ceiling. Natasha walked along the walls, hiding in the darkest corners until she found what she was looking for.

Emerging, the large lounge area was decorated with sleek silver furniture. Natasha's eyes darted towards the familiar silhouette of the snake she'd been hunting. The figure stood in front of the large tinted windows stretching across the wall, allowing for the full moonlight to pour into the lounge. It's brightness so eerily contrasted the pitch dark blackness it was almost blinding. Natasha caught the glint of a smirk on Hydra's face when the red light flickered, "About time." Said the venomous woman.

"Where are they?" Natasha demanded in a strong voice.

Hydra's smile widened before she gestured for her men to come out of the shadows. Three of her agents emerged, hauling a semi-conscious figure along with them. It wasn't until Natasha caught sight of the sandy blond color of his hair in the moonlight that she realized it was Clint. His head was hung and his hands were tied securely behind his back. The men forced him to kneel and stood oppressively on either side of him. As far as Natasha could tell, he was unhurt aside from a small bruise on his cheek. Clint looked around, still groggy, until his eyes met Hydra.

His first instinct was to lunge at the woman, but the two men by his side caught him and slammed him back down onto his knees, punching him in the gut to settle him down. Another pulled out a hand gun and aimed it as his head. Coughing, Clint looked to his right and saw Natasha's crimson red hair, squinting in disbelief at seeing her in that familiar black suit, "Let him go, Hydra." Natasha demanded.

"Where's the fun in that?" Quipped Hydra, "This is the most fun I've had in awhile. All this being the leader of global terrorist organization has me so bored."

"So, what, you break into SHIELD for the fun of it? Come on, Hydra, that can't be all you're after." In the years she'd been acquainted with Hydra, Natasha had never known the woman to ever do something without an ulterior motive.

"What more could a gal ask for? Here I am, my men storming the castle below, destroying and raiding the labs, and then here you are, a worthy adversary for the killing." Hydra's voice seethed with a type of venomous and dark pleasure at the thought of her plans that made Natasha's stomach clench in disgust. She cast a casual glance at the archer kneeled beside her, "And what a pair indeed," Natasha steeled her gaze, "Botha certainly didn't leave anything out when he sent me the recordings." She sauntered over to Clint and ran her index finger up his neck and chin, forcing him to look into her twisted eyes, "I think I'll take him as a trophy when I'm done here." She squared herself and returned her attention to the red head before her, "Who'd've thought that the infamous Black Widow would garner a lover, much less, be capable of such human weakness." The last words were bitter and almost disappointed as she spoke them.

"There are some things even you can't take away, Hydra," Natasha surprised herself with the firmness of her answer. Long ago, she'd thought all warm human emotions had been beaten out of her, replaced by the cold hard blows of reality and death; but she was older now, unafraid to admit her humanity and accept it as a part of herself—not a sign of weakness.

Hydra's devious chuckle rang in the empty space of the lounge before it suddenly stopped. In the faint flicker of red light, Natasha could see that her previous wickedness was now replaced with the utmost seriousness and deepness of thought that vanished just as quickly as Natasha spotted it, almost as if it were never there to begin with, "You're right," She uttered, startling Natasha before her calmness resumed its previous sinister demeanor, "But have you forgotten what happens when you play with a fire that burns as strongly as love?" She questioned in a taunting voice.

_"You get burned,"_ Natasha thought, remembering all too well how she learned both the literal and metaphorical aspect of that simple truth.

Natasha clenched her fists and glared at Hydra murderously as the viper looked over Clint pensively, "He's certainly a fighter, this one." She chuckled, "Loyal to the bone and stubborn as a mule. Remind you of anyone, Natalia?" Hydra placed a hand on her hip and tilted her head in question, "Poor Anya looked up to you, worshiped you, and what did she get in return?" Natasha fought to control the seething anger boiling with in herself, "Multiple stab wounds and broken heart. The least you could've done was give her a quick death." Natasha was done holding back. In a flash of black and red, she ran at Hydra, throwing punch after punch and kick after kick, "She was what, eleven, twelve? Have you no mercy Romanova, you monster?" Challenged Hydra as she caught Natasha's fist and gave it a painful twist before kicking the agent in the gut and sending her sprawling across the room.

Taking a shaky breath, Natasha stood, "You're the monster, Hydra. You just had to test out that mind control serum on the younger girls, didn't you?" Squaring her shoulders, Natasha attacked Hydra once more. She landed a kick and tried to gather leverage to take her down when her body just suddenly refused to act. Her movements became slower and her hits became weaker, barely making a dent. Natasha growled in frustration and aimed a punch at Hydra's side before the woman deflected it and belted Natasha across the face. Blood trickled from a small cut in her lip. Natasha steadied herself on her the balls of her feet and prepared to launch at Hydra when the woman roundhouse kicked her across the head.

Natasha's head pounded at the force of the blow, her vision filling with stars and fog, "Finding it difficult to focus, Natasha?" Taunted Hydra, "I can answer that question." She said before she landed a sharp kick to the agent's abdomen, grinning at the sound of her breathless gasps, "You're wondering why your body is fighting you, yes? Why it refuses to react the way you want it to, to hit, like you want it to." She circled Natasha like a hungry predator. The young woman's hand lashed out and gripped Hydra's ankle in defiance. Hydra smirked before bringing up her other foot and slammed it down into Natasha's wrist. The sharp crack of her bones elected a muffled grunt of pain from her as she released Hydra's ankle, "See, you knew that was coming, but your hand wouldn't pull away." Hydra roughly hauled her up and forcefully slammed her on one of the tables in the lounge, tightly gripping one of Natasha's arms, threatening to dislocate the joint, "The compound Drakov used on you had a unique chemical in it," she hissed into Natasha's ear from behind, "One that I made. At the scent of me, it begins reacting, sending signals to the brain that render you incapable of harming me." Natasha's voice failed her as she tried to form an angry response; her lips were frozen in place. Unsheathing one of Natasha's own knives from her suit, Hydra tightly fisted Natasha's hair into her hand before bringing her up and smashing the agent's head into the corner of the table, releasing her and watching as she crumbled to the ground.

Blood seeped into Natasha's vision from a deep cut above her temple. Squinting, she caught sight of Hydra sauntering over to where her men held Clint. They hauled him up by the crook of his elbows, pulling painfully on his shoulder sockets. Hydra stole one last glance at Natasha, grinning venomously and twirling the red head's own knife in her hand. Dread poured into the pit of Natasha's stomach as she realized what was about to happen. She caught Clint's eyes, noting the fearless glint in them. He looked at her, reassuring her that he'd be alright. Natasha doubted that as she watched Hydra lick the tip of the blade before plunging the knife deeply into Clint's abdomen. He cringed and let out a painful grunt as it was yanked from his wound, "Oops, it slipped." Hydra said as a dark grin tugged at her lips.

Natasha's eyes widened slightly, catching sight of Clint's pained expression before one of the men jabbed his bleeding wound, knocking the air out of his lungs. He hung his head, trying to hide his pain from Natasha's view. His abdomen hurt like a bitch and he could feel his stomach lurch in pain. His wrists were tightly bound while a gun was trained on his head. He had to be patient, wait for the right moment to strike or he could make things go from bad to worse, 'But seriously, how could this get worse?' He thought. Clin realized he thought too soon when he lifted his head to glance at Natasha. Her shoulders were squared and her hair hung around her face like a bloody veil; through the red flicker of light, her could see it clung to her slightly perspire forehead. She was breathing fast, the kind of fast that he recognized when she was mentally trying to bring herself to do something rash, and in his words, stupid. Just as he predicted, she clenched her jaw, let out a strong breath, and in a rapid movement, struck herself with the palm of her hand with such force that her head was thrown back. She staggered momentarily, revealing a bloody and surely broken nose. Hydra was clearly taken back by this as she made no effort to hide her surprise from her face.

"Did you know," she began, sloppily wiping off some blood that had trailed ot her lips, "that it only takes seven pounds of force to break a human nose?" Natasha's lips curled into a proud smirk, "WIth a well aimed blow, of course." Without another word, she pulled a knife from her belt and flung it at the man holding the gun to Clint's head. The knife buried itself in the man's heart with such force, he was knocked back. Clint didn't hesitate to begin fighting the remaining two men, although his wound did make things a little harder. One of the men lands a kick followed by a punch that knocked Clint to the ground. He's about to land another kick when stealthy hands wrap around his head and snap his neck in one fluid movement before another knife takes down the last guard. Clint's huffing in pain and exertion on the ground, his wrists still tightly and awkwardly bound behind him.

Natasha is quickly by his side, cutting away at the binds. She cringes at the sound of his coughing, noting how he tried, and failed, to hide the blood slithering up his throat. Tiny specks of red peppered his lips as he tried to lick away any evidence of the extent of his injury, "I'm fine, Nat." He breathed.

"No, you're not." She countered, quickly putting pressure on his wound.

"She's right," Hydra offered. In the chaos of trying to get to Clint, Natasha had lost track of the snake. Hydra was standing in front of the large window panes holding what looked to like phone, "There was poison at the tip of the knife," Hydra pulled out a small glass vial from a pocket on her black belt. Holding it up, the moonlight shining through it revealed its green tint, "Only this can save him. But I'm going to need you to re-enter into that contract you had with Drakov before you killed him. I'm in need of your services, Natalia."

Clint looked up at Natasha. His heart clenched in fear at the sight of the contemplating look in her eyes, "Nat," he urged, trying to snap her out of what he could only assume was a very dangerous train of thought, "Nat, don't do this." That seemed to catch her attention because her eyes snapped back into reality and looked at his, "Please—" He breathed, unable to finish his plea as another cough racked his bloody frame.

That's all it took. He could see the resignation in her eyes and damned himself for having coughed when he did. He'd only confirmed her early affirmation that he was not, in fact, okay. She reached for his buckle and pulled loose a small circular device before pressing the red button at it's center. The device immediately lit up red in alert. It was a device SHIELD had commissioned to Stark Industries to keep it's operatives safe. It alerted any nearby medical personnel to the danger. Blood caught in his throat as he tried to speak again, tried to get her to rethink her decision, as she gently propped him up against the wall and stood up.

Her eyes cast an apologetic look at him. '_No,'_ he thought. Not apologetic. Not quite. There was something else there. It wasn't an apology for leaving him again; it was the type of apologetic look she used to give him when she was about to do something she wasn't sure would work. '_She's gonna gamble,'_ he thought grimly.

Natasha reached up to wipe away blood that had trickled to her mouth before she slowly mouthed, "_I love you,"_ to Clint. His heart shattered as he watched her turn her back to him and walk towards Hydra. The muffled chopping sound of rapid blades filled the space as a helicopter hovered beside the large window panes on the outside. Natasha's stride was strong and brisk as she approached Hydra.

The two women met face to face and stared each other down. Natasha was significantly shorter than Hydra but the villain knew better than to underestimate her opponent. Hydra pulled a gun from her thigh holster and held it up, briefly showing it to Nasha before she shot the glass. It fell to the ground like sharp glistening rain. The sound of the chopper's blades grew louder as the cold night air flooded the open space. Hydra then held up the vial of green liquid and was about to toss it in Clint's direction when Natasha's hand darted forward and tightly grabbed Hydra's wrist in a vice grip. Prying the vial from her cold fingers, Natasha let it fall on the ground before crushing it with the sole of her boots, grounding it into the floor for good measure.

"That's a trick I won't fall twice for." Natasha said as she took a few steps back.

Hydra grinned, "That's quite a gamble, Romanov."

"You forget that I know you, Ophelia." Natasha licked her red lips, "You'd rather me give him a poison and watch me witness my mistake than have me mindlessly chained to your side."

"You caught me," She said, looking past Natasha as the archer still leaning against the wall, "But it seems you're too late."

The fact It was Natasha's turn to smirk as a moment passed before rushed footsteps carrying medics arrived and quickly tended to Clint, "No, Hydra, for once I'm right on time." Natasha said before she ran at her and both women fell out of the safety of the building foundation and into the cold night air.

They tumbled into the open helicopter compartment together when Natasha lost her grip on Hydra and rolled off the other edge of the chopper. Her hand barely managed to clasp around the one of the landing rails as the helicopter teetered at the sudden weight on its side. Natasha willed herself to not look down. Heights were never her strong suit and much like one can't help but watch the scariest part of a horror movie, Natasha stole a glance below at the busy streets of central DC. In the bright moonlight, the shadows drew a deep and infinitely black shade over the city, further enunciating the red and yellow lights of the cars it over looked. She could see the chaos erupting below her: the flashes of guns being discharged in succession could be see from her position. Hydra's men were fighting toe to toe with SHIELD agents and gathering local authorities. From what she could tell, things weren't looking so well for the agents. Natasha immediately shut out those thoughts from her mind; they weren't going to help her out of her current situation.

It also didn't help that, as she turned her attention back to the railing, she caught sight of the Triskelion in her peripheries and was instantly reminded that she was handing roughly fifty-two stories above the earths surface.

_'Shit.'_

Natasha was torn from her thoughts when a hand reached down and gripped her cat suit by the back of the collar and yanked her back into the compartment. Upon landing in the helicopter with a dull thud, Natasha was immediately belted across the face with a closed fist, "You're not getting away that easy, Romanov." Hissed Hydra. All traces of cool and controlled composure were slowly slipping from the villains grasp and were now being replaced with deeply rooted vehemence towards the Russian assassin in front of her. It was one thing for Natasha to not fall for her tricks, it was another to ruin her gracefully planned exit strategy.

Natasha wasted no time in reacting before she brought up her legs and kicked Hydra away with one good shove to the chest. Natasha used the momentum to roll onto her feet. They glared each other down before attacking. Natasha tackled Hydra into the opposite wall with all of her might and punched the wicked woman for good measure. The helicopter teetered momentarily as the pilot tried to move away from the Triskelion. Hydra took hold of Natasha's broken wrist with a vice grip and kneed the agent in her already sore abdomen. Natasha doubled over and caught Hydra's knee as it was about to hit her face. With all her might, Natasha landed a swift uppercut to Hydra's jaw that caused it to snap shut with the force of the blow. She staggered and fell to the compartment floor in a disoriented heap. The red-headed agent wasted no time in straddling Hydra and gripping the woman's throat in her hands.

The ache from her broken wrist insisted on making itself known but Natasha paid no attention to it. She focused all of her energy on strangling the menace before her. Hydra's hands clawed at Natasha's in an attempt to get free. She hissed and croaked as she tried to get oxygen to her lungs. Natasha barred her teeth like an angry beast about to kill whatever foolish creature had mistakenly named itself an enemy. Rage built up in Natasha: rage and anger at what this woman had done, robbed natasha of her human mortality and extended her time in hell on earth, anger at what this woman had done, the pain she'd caused, the damage she'd done to Clint and everything in the last five years, but above all else, Natasha was outraged by what this woman represented—all of her own flaws in their purest form.

Natasha had to be honest with herself. She was a living vessel for a suppressed and repressed form of evil and monstrosity that had been present in her since she could remember. Her maleficent tendencies had been fostered and nourished and grown into the depraved young woman SHIELD had found so many years ago. She herself, at one point, had been as negligent of human life and as inductive of human suffering as Hydra was in this very moment.

Which was why Natasha couldn't bring herself to tear her eyes away from Hydra's struggling from, gasping for breath and squirming to get free. In some strange and far off cosmic scale of morality, Hydra's assassination was the ultimate penance. And there was no way in hell Natasha was going to let Hydra escape in one piece.

In the midst of her inner monologue, Natasha had failed to take note of Hydra's seemingly random clawing at the compartment floor. Reaching her thigh holster, Hydra's trembling hand undid the small latch and released the firearm. She held it up and fired at Natasha. The shot rang out next to her ear and she bit back a yelp as the bang caused her right ear to ring endlessly. Startled by the loud bang, Natasha loosened her grip on Hydra's throat. This gave her a chance to buck the agent off of her and catch her breath. Natasha grit her teeth and moved to immediately wrestle the revolver from Hydra's grip.

She managed to catch Hydra in an arm-bar lock, but not before the gun fired again and landed a hit on her. Ignoring the agony, Natasha pulled back on Hydra's arm, careful to keep the gun's tip away from her. Another ounce of pressure and Hydra yelled out as her finger curled reflexively around the trigger and fired a shot into the cockpit of the helicopter. The bullet ricocheted in comets of red sparks before embedding itself in the pilot's head.

If there was a record for the world's most unintentional shot, Hydra owned it. Finally releasing the revolver, the helicopter quickly dropped altitude and teetered to one side, allowing Natasha to properly roll over Hydra and strike her with the butt of the gun. Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha could see the helicopter drifting dangerously close to an adjacent building. Fear and indecision clouded her features before turning back to a dazed Hydra.

Steeling her features, Natasha aimed the gun at Hydra's head and pulled the trigger.

*Click*

'_Shit.' _

"Only five rounds in a revolver, Natalia." Said Hydra, blood glistening off her atrocious grin. She was sprawled out under Natasha, hands palm up by her head in an almost surrendering posture.

Gripping the gun tighter, Natasha struck Hydra again before unsheathing two of her throwing knives and stabbing them through Hydra's hands, pinning her to the compartment floor. She howled in pain, eyes wide in unexpected surprise. Her eyes darted to Natasha's; it was her turn to smirk, "Knives don't run out of bullets." She uttered into the villain's ear before quickly getting up and running out of the compartment, leaving behind an impaled Hydra, just as the helicopter blades crashed into the side of a building only moments later.

Natasha felt the heat wave of the explosion propel her faster towards the building she was aiming for. She landed hard on her feet, her knees buckling under the force, and she rolled across the gravel covered roof. Her back collided with the side of the roof access structure with a loud thud that knocked the air out of her.

Groaning, Natasha managed to get to her knees. She winced in pain and brought a hand up to her throbbing abdomen. It came away sticky with deep crimson liquid from where Hydra's bullet had hit her, '_Another scar to add to the collection,' _she thought bitterly. Natasha tried to get up, but her knees felt weak and she landed hard on them as they gave out beneath her. She groaned and doubled over herself, arm tightly clutching her bleeding midsection. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, she realized, as she suddenly became aware of every ache and pulse emanating from her battered body. Her breathing became shaky and strained. Natasha let herself fall back on her heels and sit against the wall, rolling her head until she felt the cool concrete surface against her cheek.

Natasha let out a dry and empty chuckle. She laughed at the irony of it all, "Of course everything goes to shit when I try to do something good." She said aloud. She could've been selfish, stopped hunting for Hydra, kept Clint safe, but she chose to press forward, refusing to appease any form of Hydra's tyranny.

Natasha could feel the tickle of blood creeping up her throat but forced herself to swallow it down. She gazed thoughtfully at the distant red and orange glow of the helicopter crash that was Hydra's demise.

'_Maybe this is how it's meant to end,'_ she thought to herself, '_An eye for an eye, a life for a life, or in this case, two evils for the price of one.'_ Her eyes began to droop, '_We're not all that different, I was just learned to suppress the monster.' _Her fingertips felt cold, '_As long as Clint is safe,' _she hoped, '_this is fine.'_

Of all the people who had ever crossed her path, Clint was the only one she was successful in protecting. His wound was deep, but the medics arrived on time. He'd be safe. He deserved to be safe.

The same couldn't be said for her, as she sat against the wall adjacent to the roof access door, bleeding out. Natasha's tired mind finally succumbed and allowed her eyes to begin to droop shut. Her breathing slowed and became shallow, she could feel herself growing limp. Her eyes peered open for only a second when she heard the roof access door swing open. Men flooded out into the night air; black figures holding guns and wearing round rimmed reflective goggles filled Natasha's blurring vision. Their faces were obscured by black face masks. She couldn't tell if they were friend or foe, here to save her or to finish her.

She registered the feel of cool leather gloves pressed against her jugular and caught a glimpse of one of a man glancing at another before he turned his attention back to her. He pulled the fabric covering the bottom half of his face down and spoke words Natasha didn't have the focus to understand.

The last thing she registered before her eyes shut close was the familiar scent of cologned shampoo under the smell of sawdust and gunpowder.

* * *

**Who could that be? What will become of Natasha? Is Hydra really dead? Where's Clint? What's happening?  
**

**Review and find out!**


	15. NOT A CHAPTER BUT YES I AM ALIVE

Sorry to say this isn't an update but I've been receiving some concerned messages/reviews and I thought I should clarify:

I do indeed live, but at a price. The first few weeks of delay were entirely my fault. I was usually three or four chapters ahead of what was published but then school started and it hit me like a whirlwind. A about another week later, I was hit yet again, but by a car. Some dumbass drunk driver flattened me when I was crossing the road on my bike. Broken tibia, ulna, cracked pelvis/saccrum and a nasty concussion. Not fun. I've been recovering from that and trying to figure out my situation at school.

So, this means that no, this story is not abandoned, but most likely won't be updated for a while. I'm going to try to work on it this weekend but no promises.

Thanks for the messages I got and do not lose hope! This will be finished!


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